


One of These Days

by ForForever19



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, Online Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2019-11-24 09:52:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 96,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18163655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForForever19/pseuds/ForForever19
Summary: Rachel is in love with a girl she's never met, existing only in the virtual world. But, what happens when school, life and her growing affection for a certain blonde Cheerio get in the way? Faberry.





	1. I

Disclaimer: I, by no means, claim to own anything remotely related to the Glee Universe. No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

**I**

It's the smile that first gives her away.

Kurt Hummel catches it immediately, his gaze zoning in on the sudden smile on Rachel Berry's face. It's a smile he's never seen on the girl before, and Kurt has seen Rachel Berry in _every_ emotion known to man. The petite brunette can be _dramatic_ from time to time, but this expression is new and… different. It's almost… embarrassed, and Kurt can't just let it go.

"What's that smile about?" Kurt asks, nudging his friend with his shoulder.

Sensing she's been caught, the smile slips from Rachel's face, only to be replaced by a look of confusion. "What smile?" she asks.

"The one that was on your face a second ago," Kurt points out. "Moments _after_ you looked at your phone. In class, no less. It's very unlike you."

Rachel blushes a dark red, ducking her head to hide it. "It's just a meme," she says, obviously lying.

"Oh," Kurt says, raising his eyebrows. "Can I see it?"

Rachel's smile returns, and she quickly searches through her phone for a funny picture Kurt hasn't yet seen. It's required, because how is she supposed to explain to her best friend that he might not actually be her best friend anymore? How is she supposed to tell him that his position has been stolen by a nameless, faceless person in her phone?

When she finds a suitable picture, she shows it to Kurt, and they share a small giggle before returning their attention to the front of the classroom where their teacher is demonstrating an example of the cosine formula at work. Her phone buzzes in her lap three more times before the lesson is over and she's able to check her phone without having to hide it under her desk. The smile she was trying to hide is back in full-force as she spies the now-familiar contact, saved as a moniker she doesn't _know_ , but believes.

_Pretty Girl: Distract me._

_Pretty Girl: This is me here, dying of boredom._

_Pretty Girl: And… I'm dead. You did this. I hope you're happy._

Rachel just shakes her head, her thumbs already typing as she and Kurt weave through the students filling the corridors between classes. It's only the second period of the day and Rachel is already exhausted.

**Little Star: And you call me dramatic.**

**Little Star: No, don't die. Stay with me! What am I supposed to do without your daily snark and biting sarcasm?**

**Little Star: Just for the record, I would be extremely SAD if anything happened to you.**

She presses send on the last text just as they reach their English classroom and Kurt, ever the gentleman, opens the door for her and she slides through, whispering her gratitude. Before Kurt can release the door, four other people walk through the open door. The first two don't acknowledge him at all, the third shoots him a beaming smile, and the fourth offers him a timid, though grateful smile. It's enough of a gesture to force away his imminent scowl.

Muttering under his breath, Kurt _finally_ enters the classroom and moves directly to his seat beside Rachel. They sit comfortably in the third row, just far enough from the back not to be distracted by the talkative students in the last row, and not close enough to the front to be picked on constantly by the teacher.

"I see they turned you into a doorman," Rachel comments, resisting the urge to turn her head and look behind her, where they can both hear the incessant voices of the four most popular students in school: Noah Puckerman, Santana Lopez, Brittany Pierce and Quinn Fabray.

"At least I didn't end up shoved against the doorframe," he mutters. "That's a win for me, I suppose."

Rachel rolls her eyes. "They're horrible," she says, shaking her head. "I can't wait to get out of this place."

"Tell me about it."

When Rachel's phone buzzes, she immediately lifts it from her lap to check it before the lesson starts.

_Pretty Girl: Nope. YOU are the dramatic one in this relationship._

_Pretty Girl: I'm still here. Unfortunately. Attendance is a must._

_Pretty Girl: Believe me, I would be sad about it as well._

For a moment, Rachel's eyes bug out at the sight of the first message. Words like 'relationship' should never be used in texts between two people who haven't actually _defined_ anything.

**Little Star: Relationship?**

**Little Star: Good girl. Stay in school.**

**Little Star: I'm glad we actually agree on something. Today HAS to get better.**

Kurt clears his throat, getting Rachel's attention. "Are you _sure_ you're just looking at memes?" he asks.

Despite herself, she blushes again and, thankfully, their English teacher, Mr Pope calls for attention. Rachel faces forward, ignoring Kurt's pointed look. He definitely knows she's lying - has been for quite some time - and he's desperately trying to be patient. Kurt Hummel is not a patient person, and Rachel Berry is making it very difficult for him.

"Oh, boy," Rachel mutters.

"What?"

"Look," she says, gesturing towards their teacher, who looks especially enthusiastic about _something_. They're definitely in for it now, and some of the students even brace themselves for the impromptu quiz that's bound to be produced.

It's not.

It's so much worse.

"Today, we're going to discuss your final project of the year," Mr Pope says, smiling widely. "How does it feel to hear that? This will be the final paper you ever write for me, ladies and gentlemen."

That piece of news receives a subdued response because they're all too worried about the almost permanent smile on their teacher's face. Rachel even sits straighter, just knowing she isn't going to like whatever this man is about to say.

Kurt leans towards Rachel and whispers, "If his face stays that way any longer, it's going to need the True Love's Kiss to wake it up."

She giggles behind her hand. "You're going to get us in trouble."

Kurt just shrugs, his attention returning to Mr Pope as he continues with his - dangerous - explanation.

"I've been thinking about what topic to give you for quite some time, and I've decided that I'm going to allow you to pick your own. Within reason, of course."

This news is much better received, arousing a bit of a cheer from the class, but the fact that Mr Pope doesn't react is enough to make the more academically-inclined students wary. There's more to come. There always is.

Mr Pope takes a step forward, his smile still in place. "I thought you would appreciate that," he says. "The only thing is that you'll be working in pairs," he adds, putting his hand out to keep his students quiet; "which I have already picked for you."

The sudden protesting is almost comical, but Mr Pope looks unaffected. Rachel is halfway to going into shock, her heart rate rising to dangerous levels at the very _idea_ of having to work with anyone other than Kurt.

"Quiet, quiet," Mr Pope says. "It's not going to be that bad."

Rachel turns to Kurt, eyes wide. "How can he say that?" she hisses.

"It would be better if we could pick our own partners," he whispers back.

"I've got the pairs here," Mr Pope says, stepping back and lifting a piece of paper up off his desk to read off the names. "Brittany Pierce and Michael Chang, Noah Puckerman and Finn Hudson, Shane Tinsley and Mercedes Jones, Lauren Zizes and Rick Nelson, Becky Jackson and Dave Karofsky, Azimio Adams and Jacob Ben Israel, Matt Rutherford and Suzy Pepper, Rachel Berry and Santana Lopez, and Quinn Fabray and Kurt Hummel."

For the longest moment, nobody in the class reacts. It's just silence: shocked and unadulterated silence.

Mr Pope pushes through the silence, enjoying it as the reality of his assignment sinks in. "This project is going to count for forty percent of your final grade, so I expect you to put in sufficient effort to produce your best work.

Rachel turns to Kurt, horrified. "Oh. My. God."

Kurt just shakes his head, his own panic making his hands tremble. "We'll talk to him," he says, his shoulders tense. "We can ask him if we can switch."

Mr Pope raises his hand to halt the protests that are surely to come, once they _really_ begin. It's just a murmur at the moment as the shock settles in. "Don't bother coming to me to switch partners," he says, sounding disinterested. "I drew from a hat, I swear. Contrary to what you surely believe, I'm not trying to punish you or ruin your lives. Make it work, or I'm going to fail you."

With the sound of that, the murmuring dies. Mr Pope doesn't need to add that, if he does indeed fail them, they don't graduate. It's definitely one way to put the fear of God into his students, because there are no protests whatsoever.

"We're going to die," Rachel says. "Oh, my God, I'm going to fail. I'm going to fail. Oh, my God, I'm not going to graduate. I'm going to be stuck in Lima, all because Mr Pope decided to mix things up. Is he trying to kill me? He's trying to kill us, Kurt."

Kurt is inclined to agree with her, but he holds his tongue. At least _one_ of them has to remain calm, and it's usually him in this particular relationship. "It's going to be fine," he says, placing a hand on her forearm. "It'll be fine."

"How can you say that?" she asks pointedly, glaring at him. "You have to work with Quinn," she hisses. "I have to work with Santana. How is it going to be fine?"

Kurt forces himself not to turn around when he hears the familiar laugh of one Santana Lopez. "I'll probably end up doing all the work anyway," he offers, even though he doesn't believe it. Quinn Fabray is their graduating class' expected Valedictorian, and it's doubtful she's going to slack at all. "You as well, right?" he says. "Maybe it'll be better that way."

"But we don't have time for that," she argues, her eyes betraying her panic. The remainder of their senior year is already jam-packed with projects, assignments and rehearsals.

Mr Pope claps his hands once to get the class' attention. "Now that you've all gotten over the initial shock, can I hand out the project brief?"

As expected, he receives no response.

"Shuffle about and meet with your partners," Mr Pope instructs. "I won't be giving you too many of these periods free so I expect you to make good use of this time. I suggest you get together with your partner now, try to think up some project topics and discuss suitable meeting times. The end of the school year is just shy of three months away, and I'm expecting impeccable work. From _both_ partners."

Rachel audibly gulps, suddenly sure that Mr Pope would be able to tell if only one person did the work. Sometimes, teachers have that habit of knowing their students.

Mr Pope makes quick work of handing out the project briefs to every student. "Get moving then," he says.

Neither Kurt nor Rachel move a muscle. No. They don't even turn their heads. This is asking too much. Even though their teachers do nothing about the clear bullying in the school, they _are_ aware of it and usually do their best not to aggravate it. But this? This is practically feeding the 'losers' of the school to the popular kids and sitting back and watching it all unfold.

"Rachel? Kurt?" Mr Pope asks when he reaches their table. "Aren't you going to find your partners?"

Rachel doesn't even look up at their teacher. Kurt is the one to take the project briefs from him, offering a tight smile. "We were just waiting for these," he says through gritted teeth.

"Oh, good," he says, quickly moving along.

Rachel looks at Kurt. "I think I'm going to be sick."

"It's going to be fine," Kurt says again, though he sounds less convincing this time around. "It could be worse."

"How could it be worse?"

"Your partner could be Quinn," he grumbles, and Rachel smiles sympathetically. "Or Puck."

"At least you know Quinn won't try to kill you," she says, shaking her head. "Santana has actually _threatened_ my life before, you know? I'm going to die, Kurt. She's going to kill me."

"She's not going to kill you, Rachel," he says. "She _needs_ you to pass this project."

Rachel is about to respond when a shadow falls over them, forcing her to look up to see none other than Quinn Fabray standing over them, her eyes displaying her patented cold glare.

"Berry," she says. "Hummel."

Rachel clears her throat. "Hello, Quinn."

Kurt breathes out through his nostrils. "Quinn," he says carefully. "Are you coming to sit here?"

The blonde cheerleader glances over her shoulder, eyeing the seat beside Santana that she just vacated. "I think that's best," she eventually responds to Kurt. "We'll probably get more work done away from Puck and Santana's bitching."

Kurt is sufficiently caught off guard by Quinn's surprising candidness, and his raised eyebrows give him away. Rachel uses the opportunity to rise from her own seat, absently knocking her elbow with Quinn's and stumbling a bit. Why is she standing so close anyway?

"Sorry," she mumbles, shaking her head and offering her seat to Quinn, before looking at Kurt. "I'll see you later," she says. "Wish me luck."

"Good luck," both Quinn and Kurt say, which, if it weren't so awkward, would probably be amusing.

Rachel looks at Quinn, her eyes locking on hazel for the first time, and Rachel can't mistake the look of understanding in them. It's unsettling, in how foreign and familiar it feels, and she immediately steps back. The two of them haven't really had any sort of contact since their sophomore year, and Rachel definitely doesn't want to start now because that last conversation definitely didn't end well.

There were tears from her and such... defeat from Quinn.

Quinn looks away first, and claims the seat Rachel has just vacated. She settles herself, back perfectly straight, as she produces a notebook from her bag and opens it to a fresh page.

Kurt and Rachel exchange a perplexed look, which is broken by the sound of Santana's voice.

"RuPaul," she barks from the back of the classroom, making Rachel jump. "We don't have all day here."

Steeling herself, Rachel makes her way towards Santana's table. It's obvious the Latina made no effort to prepare for her arrival, but she reads very little into it as she slips into Quinn's former seat. Rachel doesn't speak first, choosing rather to prepare her own notebook for note-taking before she places the project brief in front of her. Forty percent of their mark just doesn't seem fair. But, as she reads what is required of the project in its entirety, she figures out why.

It's… a lot of work.

"So," Rachel finally says, turning to look at Santana, who is literally glaring at her. "Have you read through the brief?"

"What do you think I've been doing while I waited for your slow ass to get here?"

Rachel forces herself to focus on her breathing. "Do you have any ideas about a topic then?"

Santana narrows her eyes as a smirk spreads across her face. "We could look at how having mommy issues affect a kid's development," she says.

Despite the unexpected comment, Rachel doesn't react. It's well-known in this school that Shelby Corcoran, Coach of Vocal Adrenaline, is her mother… who doesn't _want_ her. It's still a sore spot for her, and Santana Lopez just _loves_ to hit her in it. "Or, we could look at the effects of too much meaningless sex on emotional development," Rachel finds herself saying.

Santana immediately sits up. "What did you just say to me?"

"Nothing," Rachel says flatly, returning her attention to her notebook. "Just brainstorming."

"Well, brainstorm better," Santana huffs, grabbing for Rachel's pen and notebook. In the centre of the page, she writes: 'Fucking Torture,' and then circles it twice.

"Real mature," Rachel comments dryly as she takes the notebook back, tears out the page and scrunches it up. On a fresh page, she writes 'English Project Topic.' They're barely a few minutes into this new partnership, and Rachel can feel her stomach dropping further and further. There's no way she's going to be able to survive this.

"Your handwriting looks like bird shit," Santana says.

Rachel ignores her. "We have to consider if we can find suitable literature for whatever topic we decide on," she says instead, fully aware that she sounds patronising. She finds she doesn't care.

"Are you going to insist on it being boring?" Santana asks.

"Are you going to pull your weight if I don't?"

"Why? Are you worried I'll be the reason you flunk this course?"

Rachel, once again, doesn't react. "I would think _you_ would want to graduate, or are you so keen to keep reliving your glory days that you'd be willing to stay another year?"

Santana glares at her. "At least I _have_ glory?"

"And, if you keep this up, it's all you'll ever have," she returns, almost automatically.

Santana's glare hardens, but it's nothing like a Quinn Fabray glare, and Rachel's been on the receiving end of those one too many times to be affected by Santana's. "Can we just focus on this stupid project?"

Rachel sighs. "Fine," she breathes. "Let's start somewhere simple. What interests you?"

Simple.

Of course.

* * *

By the end of the lesson, Rachel is about ready to pull out her own hair - or Santana's. Someone's, definitely. As a result, she leaves English in the foulest mood. She just can't understand why Santana is so determined to make everything so difficult. Would it _kill_ her to be civil enough to make _plans_ to meet up? Rachel mourns for the rest of her high school English career,.

"God, you look awful," Kurt says, looking sympathetic as they leave the classroom together. Thankfully, they share a free period, which they usually spend in the choir room. "Was it that bad?" he asks, coming to a halt and allowing her to lead the way out of the classroom.

"I'd rather not talk about it," she grumbles.

Kurt gently pats her shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"Was yours just as bad?" she asks.

Kurt bites his bottom lip in thought, contemplating what he should tell her. Particularly if her first meeting went so spectacularly badly. "Surprisingly, no, it wasn't," he finally says.

"Really?" she asks, frowning at the very idea of Quinn and Kurt actually managing to get any work done.

"I'm just as surprised as you are," he admits. "Believe me."

"What happened?"

"Well, she was very open to my ideas," he explain. "She was receptive and offered up all sorts of ideas of her own. It was odd actually _talking_ to her, so I'm still trying to wrap my head around it."

Rachel's frown hasn't ceased. Like everyone in school, she has a certain idea of Quinn Fabray. She's the Head Cheerleader, Student Counsel President, Valedictorian, Head of the Tutor Centre, President of the Celibacy Club and Head of various other clubs such as the Red Cross and the Model United Nations. She rules the school with an iron glare. Her word is gold, titanium, platinum. Her word is the law and, over the years, she's managed to build a reputation as both a heartless bitch and a fierce protector of her own. Rachel _knows_ there must be a softer side to her, but she's never witnessed it first hand.

When they get to the choir room, Kurt moves straight towards the piano and Rachel drops herself into a chair. She tilts her head back to look at the ceiling and lets out a frustrated groan.

"Oh, come on," Kurt says with a slight laugh. "It couldn't have been that bad."

"It was worse," she grumbles, lifting her head back up and looking at him. "I promise you one of us is going to end up killing the other? It's going to happen, Kurt, and I'm still so young, you know? I have so much life left to live. I haven't sung on Broadway yet. I haven't even had sex. I mean, I don't even have a will yet."

"Wow," Kurt says, absently shuffling through the sheet music atop the piano. "Easy there, Drama. Nobody is going to die."

"Just you wait," she mutters as she takes out her phone to check her messages. Despite her awful mood, she does crack a smile at the sight of a certain name.

_Pretty Girl: Is relationship the wrong word? What would you call this then?_

_Pretty Girl: Is it possible both to love and hate school?_

_Pretty Girl: I'm afraid you spoke too soon._

**Little Star: I don't know. The word 'relationship' usually means something more than… friendship. Is that what this is?**

**Little Star: No. The words 'love' and 'school' should never exist in the same sentence.**

**Little Star: Oh, no. What happened?**

_Pretty Girl: It does mean something more than… friendship. I thought that was what this was, but correct me if I'm wrong._

_Pretty Girl: Not even the sentence: 'She's my high school love'?_

_Pretty Girl: Shit. Shit happened, and is continuing to happen._

Rachel resists the urge to squeal because her Pretty Girl has just acknowledged that this thing they're doing exists in the category of _more_. It's exciting and frightening and Rachel knows she should be more careful with her heart, but she also knows it's already gone. She's already handed it over to a complete stranger, and she doesn't even know if she would want to take it back.

**Little Star: No, you're not wrong. I'm just… surprised.**

**Little Star: Ask me again one day. I may or may not change my mind.**

**Little Star: So, just life in general, then?**

_Pretty Girl: Good surprised? Or bad?_

_Pretty Girl: I will remember this. You should know that I remember everything._

_Pretty Girl: Life = Shit. You just get me._

**Little Star: GOOD, Pretty Girl. Definitely good. We're in a relationship. How could that possibly be bad?**

**Little Star: I don't know if I should be worried or impressed by that.**

**Little Star: I do get you, and you get me, don't you?**

"Aha," Kurt suddenly exclaims, and Rachel almost jumps right out of her seat. "I've found the perfect song," he says. "Come on, Rach; let's sing your frustration."

She giggles softly as she bends to put away her phone in her bag, just as it buzzes again.

_Pretty Girl: We're in a relationship. Wow._

_Pretty Girl: Definitely impressed. I've been trying to impress you from the very beginning._

_Pretty Girl: I like to think so, yes. I'm still learning, though._

Definitely, wow.

* * *

By the time Kurt and Rachel roll into Glee that afternoon, Rachel's foul mood has dissipated somewhat. She's managed to avoid Santana all day and focus on other things, like the fact that she's in an actual relationship. Wow. If she can focus on only that, then this day can be salvaged.

Somehow.

Hopefully.

Outside of the choir room, Rachel has to face off with the popular kids and, inside the choir room, she has to deal with _divas_. It's exhausting, really, and all Rachel wants to do is sing… or text her Pretty Girl. It's a toss-up at this point.

There's bickering and nasty words said, before Mr Schuester can get them under control. Rachel doesn't even know why everyone is having such a conniption anyway. Nationals is weeks away, and everyone already _knows_ she's going to be singing the Solo. It's the only chance they have at winning, and they have to know the truth of it.

So, it's an exhausted Rachel Berry who finally makes it home, just in time to have dinner with her fathers before she goes up to her bedroom in an attempt not to get buried by her unless homework.

And, God, _that_ English project. She doesn't even want to think about it as she rather works on her Spanish conjugations. She has a functional email to prepare and sentences to translate. The class has been much better ever since they got a real Spanish teacher to teach it, and Mr Schuester switched to... History, she thinks. Maybe, now, Rachel actually stands a chance.

Still, she works diligently until she's done. It's just before ten o'clock, and she uses the opportunity to get ready for bed. Her nighttime routine is vigorous on a normal night, and tonight is no different. She usually takes her time, hoping to waste it until it's _time_.

Because, at exactly ten thirty, Rachel gets the text she receives at this exact time every weeknight.

_Pretty Girl: Go online._

As if she's not already prepared. She's sitting at her desk, staring at the chat window on her computer screen, _waiting_.

**Little Star: Already there.**

_Pretty Girl: X_

* * *

**GoldStarRBB** : Pretty Girl?

 **SkySplits94** : Hey you!

 **GoldStarRBB** : How was your day?

 **SkySplits94** : Today has honestly been the worst day… Why can't we just be done with this place already?

 **GoldStarRBB** : What happened?

 **SkySplits94** : Everything.

 **GoldStarRBB** : Like?

 **SkySplits94** : You can't see me, but I'm rolling my eyes. And I'm growling, possibly. School is honestly the devil and my friends are driving me crazy with all their drama. It was just a bitch fest of complaining today.

 **GoldStarRBB** : That's high school, I guess. It'll be over soon.

 **SkySplits94** : Clearly, you had a better day than I did.

 **GoldStarRBB** : If you would stop being so stubborn and allow us to meet, I think I could have improved your day quite considerably.

 **SkySplits94** : Well, someone's definitely feeling herself today… Is there a specific reason?

 **GoldStarRBB** : Well, you DID say we're in some sort of relationship. It turned an awful day into a great day.

 **SkySplits94** : I'm glad I could help.

 **GoldStarRBB** : You always do.

 **SkySplits94** : And… now you're making me blush.

 **GoldStarRBB** : Mission accomplished.

 **SkySplits94** : Cute.

 **SkySplits94** : Why was YOUR day so awful?

 **GoldStarRBB** : Have you ever encountered people who you're convinced exist just to test you?

 **SkySplits94** : Oh, yes. I'm quite certain my own best friend is one of those people. I think I almost slap her on a daily basis.

 **GoldStarRBB** : No, PG, what did I tell you? Violence is never the answer.

 **SkySplits94** : I'm learning.

 **GoldStarRBB** : Good girl.

 **SkySplits94** : I'm sorry your day was as awful as it was. You should tell me next time. I know some cracking (read: CORNY) jokes that could brighten up anyone's day.

 **GoldStarRBB** : I'll remember that for next time. Though, you should know that just talking to you at all makes my days better.

 **SkySplits94** : Ditto, LS. Some days are a struggle to get through, I know, but I kind of have no choice but to keep going. If I want to get out of this place, it's what's expected of me.

 **GoldStarRBB** : Is that why you do it?

 **SkySplits94** : Do what?

 **GoldStarRBB** : Keep trying as hard as you do? Or is it to do with your parents?

 **SkySplits94** : Both, I suppose.

 **SkySplits94** : I don't know. It isn't even about wanting to make my parents proud. I just want to be seen.

 **GoldStarRBB** : I see you.

 **SkySplits94** : Little Star, you don't even know who I am.

 **GoldStarRBB** : Sometimes, I feel like I do. And I would know you if you just allowed us to meet, you know? I don't know why you keep insisting on hiding who you are.

 **SkySplits94** : I have my reasons, as I suspect you do too. It's better this way… At least for now. I promise we'll meet before graduation.

 **GoldStarRBB** : Can I just point out that that is in like three months? That's an incredibly long time for my paranoid brain to come up with reasons why you refuse to meet me.

 **SkySplits94** : Oh yeah? Like what?

 **GoldStarRBB** : Well the most obvious is that you have two heads...

 **SkySplits94** : Funny, Little Star. Real funny.

 **GoldStarRBB** : I think you're probably the most gifted person at getting sarcasm across through your writing. Congratulations.

 **SkySplits94** : I think you're learning a little too much from me, you know that? What else?

 **GoldStarRBB** : I mean, in all seriousness, it's an obvious worry that you're not actually who you say you are, right?

 **SkySplits94** : Are you?

 **GoldStarRBB** : I can assure you, Pretty Girl, that I have only one head.

 **SkySplits94** : Seriously.

 **GoldStarRBB** : I am an eighteen-year-old girl with extreme mommy-issues and a complex about my slightly larger than normal nose. I love music. It's probably my favourite thing in this world.

 **SkySplits94** : That's all?

 **GoldStarRBB** : I also have ten toes and ten fingers.

 **SkySplits94** : Now that you mention that, you're perfect.

 **GoldStarRBB** : Two ears, two eyes, one mouth and one nose. I am fully abled, bisexual, and I honestly cannot wait to meet you.

 **SkySplits94** : Little Star.

 **GoldStarRBB** : Hmm?

 **SkySplits94** : It's getting late. I should probably get to bed, otherwise I'm going to be a complete zombie tomorrow. I've been known to turn into a raging bitch when I'm sleep-deprived. Well, more so than usual.

 **GoldStarRBB** : Wait. You didn't tell me… Are you who you say you are?

 **SkySplits94** : Only you would know. Honestly, you are probably the only person on this planet who knows who I really am, and I'm including myself in that. I'm learning all about myself right along with you.

 **GoldStarRBB** : Do you find yourself almost as fascinating as I do?

 **SkySplits94** : Wow, you really do know how to make a girl swoon, don't you?

 **GoldStarRBB** : I try.

 **SkySplits94** : Goodnight, my little star Xx

 **GoldStarRBB** : Goodnight, my pretty girl :*


	2. II

**II**

Rachel knows she has to tell Kurt about Pretty Girl at some point, but she just hasn't been able to bring herself to do it. She knows they don't keep secrets from each other, but this is different. Her Pretty Girl is different. For the time being, she belongs to only Rachel, and she's not ready to give up on that yet. Telling Kurt will force the issue, she knows. She's content with the way things are, but Kurt's knowing will force it to become more real, and she's not willing to face that yet.

The problem is, however, that Rachel can't seem to contain herself now that she's in a _relationship_. She can't stop herself from grinning like a fool whenever she receives a text or even _thinks_ about her secret friend. And, really, they spend _a lot_ of time texting. When they first migrated from their computer screens to their phones, they spent a full week giving each other running commentary of their days, which _should_ have helped Rachel figure out who her new friend was.

It didn't.

While Pretty Girl told her a lot of things, she also told her absolutely nothing, and Rachel gave up trying to figure out who she was pretty quickly. When she decided they weren't going to reveal their true identities to each other, she definitely meant it. She's very talented at being vague. The one thing Rachel does know for sure is that she's also a senior. A senior in Lima, Ohio. Attending William McKinley High School.

Which really means that Rachel has probably _seen_ her. Chances are. Somewhere. In the corridors. Maybe even in her class. Which, honestly, is terrifying. Just the idea that someone like Pretty Girl even exists in a place like Lima, Ohio, makes her feel uneasy. It can't be possible, can it?

Well, it _has_ to be, because she knows Pretty Girl wouldn't lie to her. She wouldn't be able to explain how or why she knows this, but she just does. Pretty Girl wouldn't hurt her. Not intentionally, at least. And, somehow, she has to translate that to her best friend without him thinking she's completely lost it. Which, in hindsight, she probably has. For all she knows, she's falling head over heels for a bot.

Still, it's the smile that gives her away, and Kurt can't bring himself to let it go this time. They're sitting just the two of them at their table during lunch on a particular Wednesday and enough is enough. Rachel notices the moment his eyes narrow in her direction, and she knows she won't be able to weasel her way out of it this time around. Kurt obviously wants answers and he isn't going to let up until she gives them to him.

"Okay," Kurt says, abandoning his sandwich and turning his pointed gaze on her. " _Why_ are you smiling?"

If anything, Rachel is surprised he's lasted as long as he has to question her about it, given the way she's been so unable to hide her reactions to the very _idea_ of Pretty Girl. It isn't that she hasn't had plenty of opportunities to tell him. She just _hasn't_.

"Rachel?" Kurt prompts, and then sighs. "We never keep secrets from each other."

Rachel instantly deflates, her appetite disappearing. "It's not a secret," she says. "The truth is just that I don't know what to tell you."

Kurt isn't sure how to respond to that. "It's been a while," he says; "this smiling thing you've been doing whenever you look at your phone. If it's not a secret, then it's definitely something."

Rachel wrings her fingers together in her lap, suddenly nervous. "Okay," she says. "There _is_ someone."

Kurt's answering smile is almost feral. "I suspected as much," he says. "I mean, it's kind of obvious."

She raises her eyebrows.

"To me, at least," he reassures her. "So, this someone… do I know know them? Him? Her?"

Rachel audibly swallows. Kurt _knows_ she identifies as bisexual, though she's never actually _liked_ any specific girl before, so this is all new to her. Nobody even knows she likes girls because, really, there's more than enough to tease her about already. Besides her fathers and her best friend, Rachel Berry's sexual orientation is a well-kept secret. She just doesn't want to become yet another statistic or fodder for homophobes to degrade her fathers' choices.

Kurt reads her facial expression for what it is. "So… her?"

Rachel nods her head slowly.

"Do I know her?" he asks, and Rachel appreciates that he doesn't immediately ask whom she is.

"Probably not," Rachel replies. " _I_ haven't even met her."

Kurt's eyes widen. "Wait, what?"

"Umm," she sounds, looking away from him for a moment. "So, as you know, I applied to schools exclusively in the New York area," she explains, watching him nod. He had as well. They have plans to take over Broadway together. "On the NYU sight, they have links to all sorts of help for prospective freshmen, from video tours of the dorms to these student chat rooms. Basically, you can create a profile and go in there, say where you're from, ask questions about the application process, and give and receive advice on things; that kind of thing."

Kurt waits a beat before he blinks once, twice, and then: "So, you met her in a chat room?"

Rachel immediately bristles. "God, Kurt," she huffs. "You make it sound so trashy. It was a _university_ chat room."

Kurt folds his arms across his chest, decidedly not liking this at all. "Rachel."

"Kurt."

"So, where is she from then?"

Rachel rolls her lips together. "Lima."

"That's lucky," he drawls. "Did she tell you that _after_ you mentioned where you were from?"

"Kurt," she grinds out. "See, this is exactly why I didn't tell you."

"Because I'm rational and can see this for exactly what it is," he says, rolling her eyes. "I mean, there is only one high school in Lima, Rachel. Are you really trying to tell me you don't know who she is? Or is it that she's not even from Lima? Or that she's not even a she?"

She sighs, suddenly irritated with him. "So, basically, you think that I'm being cat-fished?"

"Aren't you even a little concerned?"

"Of course I am," she says, huffing in annoyance. "Or, I was," she adds. "I know she's real, Kurt. I know it, and I feel it."

Kurt just stares at her as if she's lost her mind. "You _feel_ it?"

"God, don't look at me like that," she says, scrubbing her face with her hands. "I'm not crazy."

"Rachel? Seriously?"

She looks at him, silently imploring him to understand. "She's real, Kurt," she says, her eyes suddenly drifting across the cafeteria as if her gaze could somehow, magically land on her Pretty Girl and _stay_. "I don't know how I know it, but I just do. Can we just leave it at that?"

Kurt follows her gaze, searching the faces as well. "So, she could be in here right now, and you don't even know who she is?" he murmurs.

Rachel nods, her gaze drifting to a set of tables right across the cafeteria where the Cheerios and Jocks are seated. She catches sight of a blonde head of soft hair before her eyes meet Santana's…. scowl.

Well.

Rachel immediately looks away. "It scares me a bit, to be honest," she admits quietly.

Kurt watches her carefully, noticing the silent tells that only he seems to be able to read on his best friend. She _is_ scared, but it's a different kind of fear. "Why?" he asks.

"Why what?"

"Why does it scare you?"

There are things Rachel could tell him, but she isn't sure she can explain herself. She's scared the person she's starting to fall for won't be who she expects or wants; she's scared of her Pretty Girl finding out who she is and being disappointed and she's terrified of the day she _finally_ meets her and… has no idea what to say or do. She can talk a good game about wanting to meet her online friend, but she's just as apprehensive about it as Pretty Girl is.

"Wouldn't it scare you?" she asks in lieu of an answer.

"I suppose," he agrees thoughtfully. "So, this has been going on since…?" He leaves his question hanging in the air, expecting her to complete it.

"Just before the New Year," she answers, almost whispering.

"Rachel, it's the end of March," he says, slightly incredulous. "It's practically _April_."

"I know," she breathes, closing her eyes.

"And you haven't met her."

"I know that too," she says, holding back her irritation.

"Have you tried?"

Rachel knows that, if she were to mention that _she_ was the one hesitant to meet, Kurt would just use it to solidify his theory that Pretty Girl isn't whom she claims to be. She just doesn't want to deal with any more of his skepticism.

"Rachel?"

"Look, Kurt, it's important to me that you know about her, okay?" she says seriously, leaning towards him. "She's important to me, and I really care about her, so I want you to know. You're my best friend, and I need you to know, okay?"

Kurt takes a deep breath, still skeptical but willing to accept it for now. "Okay."

Admittedly, Rachel doesn't expect him to give in so easily. "Really?"

"Really," he says, smiling slightly. "Though, you should know I'm still not convinced about this. One of us has to make sure we don't have blinders on when it comes to something as serious as this."

She sighs, willing to concede to that. "Okay."

"Really?"

She laughs lightly, shaking her head. "Really, Kurt. I'm as cautious as you are, you know? She's real, but I won't begrudge you your concerns."

"We are probably the weirdest friends," he says, shaking his own head. "Who else knows about this?"

"Just you."

He just stares at her for a moment. "Wow," he breathes; "she really _is_ important to you, isn't she?"

Rachel blushes as if on command, smiling bashfully. "She really is, Kurt," she says. "I've never felt this way about anyone before. Not even Finn."

And that's saying something because, for a while, Rachel Berry couldn't see anything past the bulk that was Finn Hudson. Her life shrivelled down to one boy and, looking back, she's deathly ashamed of herself. No wonder she and Quinn Fabray haven't spoken in months. Rachel Berry essentially stole the girl's boyfriend… and then proceeded to break up with him before, during and after her bisexual discovery.

Rachel didn't actually need the redefining to know she and Finn never would have worked out in the long run. The older she got, the clearer he became, and he just wasn't as leading man material as he first appeared.

Looking back, Rachel isn't quite sure she recognises her sophomore self. She's definitely matured since then, learned when to pick her battles and kept her head down when required. She's come to the conclusion that she's an… acquired taste, and it's something she wears proudly. She's not for everyone.

"Well, then, _wow_ ," Kurt says, his eyes widening slightly. "Do you know how she feels about you?"

She licks her lips. "We've, umm, entered a tentative relationship," she explains carefully. "We have yet to discuss the specifics of said relationship, but we're _in_ it."

Kurt looks skeptical.

"I mean, it isn't as if other girls are bowling over one another to get to me," Rachel says with a shrug. "Which, admittedly, _could_ be because they don't know I would be interested, but I like this girl, Kurt. I like her a lot."

Kurt breathes out. "I still don't like it."

"I'm not asking you to," she says. "I would never ask you to do something you don't want to. All I want is for you to know."

"So I'll be able to tell the police when this creeper inevitably steals you," he quips, and Rachel punches his shoulder. "Ow!"

"You take that back," she says. "She's been nothing but kind and sweet to me, and I won't have you bad-mouthing her unless it's warranted, okay?"

He shakes his head.

"Kurt Hummel."

"Fine," he huffs. "Fine."

Rachel sits up straighter. "Good," she says. "Now, help me come up with ways to get Santana to bend to my will before I commit a murder."

* * *

**Little Star: So, I had the most embarrassing moment on my way home from school today.**

The reply comes instantly, and Rachel practically scrambles for her phone, abandoning her attempt at her US History homework completely and opening her newest text.

_Pretty Girl: Ooh. Tell me more._

**Little Star: Wait. What are you doing right now?**

_Pretty Girl: Waiting._

_Pretty Girl: Distract me._

**Little Star: Oh, is that all I'm good for?**

_Pretty Girl: I won't even warrant that absurd question with a response._

Rachel grins widely. She loves this part of their… relationship. She likes to push Pretty Girl's buttons, just to have her react. Rachel can practically _see_ her facial expression, even though she can't see her actual face. She imagines Pretty Girl has a 'Resting Bitch Face.'

**Little Star: I have a habit of, well, singing in the car. It started when I was a child, and it's got progressively worse as I've grown older. I can really go all out when I'm in my little confined space, belting out the lyrics at alarming volumes and dancing enough to move the car. I ended up stopped a red light, completely oblivious to the cars around me. I was just singing like a mad person, and I didn't notice when the light changed. I got honked at, hit my head against my steering wheel and was laughed at by at least fifteen people.**

Rachel waits a little while, just managing to finish one of her Trigonometry problems - screw US History - before she gets a reply.

_Pretty Girl: Oh, baby, I'm sorry. Did it hurt?_

Okay. Okay.

Rachel forces herself to breathe steadily. Did Pretty Girl just call her 'baby?'

**Little Star: It did.**

_Pretty Girl: Are you going to bruise?_

**Little Star: Gosh, I hope not. I do have a headache though, which really isn't fun.**

_Pretty Girl: Sorry. Xxx_

**Little Star: Tell me the truth, PG. Did you laugh?**

_Pretty Girl: Definitely._

Rachel huffs, but she's still grinning. This is why she's sure Pretty Girl won't ever lie to her.

_Pretty Girl: I had to. You would have too. I'm still sorry, though. I'm sorry it hurt._

**Little Star: If I do bruise, I'm going to have to hide my face, so you won't know who I am.**

_Pretty Girl: Does it bother you?_

**Little Star: What?**

_Pretty Girl: That I've probably seen your face before, but just haven't known it? That, through our words, I still haven't been able to recognise who you are._

**Little Star: One day, PG.**

_Pretty Girl: Soon._

Rachel's attention is drawn to the sound of a knock on her bedroom door. "Come in," she says.

The door opens to reveal one of her fathers, LeRoy Berry. "Hi, Sweetheart," he says.

"Hi, Daddy," she says brightly, grinning at him.

"Dad and I are home," he says; "and we brought Thai food."

"Okay, I'll be right down."

He blows her a kiss, and then disappears from sight.

**Little Star: Very soon, baby. X**

**Little Star: I've got to run to supper. Talk later?**

_Pretty Girl: Baby? You like it, don't you?_

**Little Star: I love it.**

_Pretty Girl: Me too. Later. X_

* * *

By ten thirty, Rachel ends up jumping the gun, logging on before she even receives the text she waits (im)patiently for every night.

**Little Star: I'm already online.**

* * *

**GoldStarRBB** : Pretty Girl, you there?

**SkySplits94** : Hi, Little Star!

**GoldStarRBB** : How was your day?

**SkySplits94** : I am happy to say that today was considerably better than every other day of this week.

**GoldStarRBB** : And why is that?

**SkySplits94** : I did not have the sudden, somewhat irrepressible, urge to murder any of my friends. I would call that a successful day, you see.

**GoldStarRBB** : Should I be worried about your tendencies towards coming up with ways to kill your friends?

**SkySplits94** : Oh no, there's no need to be concerned, LS. You and I are not friends.

**GoldStarRBB** : We're not?

**SkySplits94** : No, Sweetheart. You and me, we're so much more than that, aren't we?

**GoldStarRBB** : First 'baby,' and now 'sweetheart?' Is this your way of telling me that you _like_ me?

**SkySplits94** : I can just imagine your shit-eating grin right now. And yes, this is my way of telling you that I maybe, might, a little bit, like you, a lot.

**GoldStarRBB** : Pretty Girl?

**SkySplits94** : Hmm?

**GoldStarRBB** : I like you too. If you were wondering.

**SkySplits94** : Okay. Good. Now, can we talk about something else? My face is heating up. Let's talk about how our teachers are so intent on killing us before we even get the chance to graduate. I swear, it's like they're punishing us for everything we've put them through these past four years.

**GoldStarRBB** : Okay, but we really HAVE put them through a lot! I'd be more surprised if they didn't retaliate. We are the year that organised for a stripper to give a talk at Careers' Day.

**SkySplits94** : That was a great day, that was. And we're the year that switched out all the ketchup with that flaming hot sauce in the cafeteria.

**GoldStarRBB** : I think Mrs Prince still sniffs her ketchup before she eats it. I don't think that there was a toilet without a line for about a week afterwards. Truly epic.

**SkySplits94** : Would you hate me if I told you that I might have been a little bit more involved in organising that prank than the average student?

**GoldStarRBB** : Why on earth would I hate you for that? It was genius. And I was quite surprised by the fact that nobody took credit for it. I'm privileged to know such a maverick.

**SkySplits94** : Oh yes. Me. The everyday rebel.

**GoldStarRBB** : So you're a bad girl?

**SkySplits94** : The absolute worst.

**GoldStarRBB** : I would like to decide that for myself, thank you very much.

**SkySplits94** : Is this how it's going to be from now on?

**GoldStarRBB** : What?

**SkySplits94** : Every time we talk, you're going to bring up our meeting, aren't you?

**GoldStarRBB** : I haven't done that tonight. I'm innocent, Pretty Girl, I promise.

**SkySplits94** : You're hinting at it.

**GoldStarRBB** : Well, I did tell my best friend about you today, and he's convinced you're not really who you say you are. But I told him. Oh, I told him all right. Pretty Girl would never lie to me.

**SkySplits94** : I have so many questions right now but I have to lead with this one: your best friend is a boy?

**GoldStarRBB** : Haha, yeah, he is. Do you have a problem with that?

**SkySplits94** : No. I think it's actually rather cool, actually. Just…

**GoldStarRBB** : What?

**SkySplits94** : He's just your friend, right?

**GoldStarRBB** : Oh my. Pretty Girl, are you jealous?

**SkySplits94** : No.

**SkySplits94** : Maybe.

**SkySplits94** : A little bit.

**SkySplits94** : Yes.

**SkySplits94** : YES.

**SkySplits94** : I'm not very good at sharing.

**GoldStarRBB** : You're cute, you know.

**GoldStarRBB** : And you have NOTHING to worry about, I promise. We're just friends, but you and I are MORE.

**SkySplits94** : We are. Just so you know, my best friend is a girl.

**GoldStarRBB** : Any reason for me to be jealous?

**SkySplits94** : Oh, God no. She's great and I love her on most days, but she's desperately in love with someone else and, well, there's YOU.

**GoldStarRBB** : ME.

**SkySplits94** : So, your best friend knows you like girls?

**GoldStarRBB** : Oh, yes. He's known from the very beginning.

**SkySplits94** : How long have you known?

**GoldStarRBB** : Since probably the end of sophomore year. You?

**SkySplits94** : Last summer.

**SkySplits94** : I know it hasn't been that long, but I think there's a part of me that's always known. Somehow. Subconsciously. But that's when I allowed myself to acknowledge the truth of it.

**SkySplits94** : And, well, my best friend also knows about me, so that's one more thing we have in common. Look at us, Little Star. We were practically made for each other.

**GoldStarRBB** : I have no idea what you look like but, God, you must be beautiful.

**SkySplits94** : Little Star. Stop. I'm already blushing here. But thank you. I reckon you're rather stunning yourself. If what you write is anything to go by, you're definitely one who knows how to make a girl swoon.

**GoldStarRBB** : So you're swooning right now? I'm getting better at this.

**SkySplits94** : Switching topics. So, you told your best friend about me, huh? He doesn't believe I'm the real deal then? What did you say?

**GoldStarRBB** : That I am very sure that you, at least, have one head and not two.

**SkySplits94** : I do. And I have two eyes, two ears, one nose and one mouth. I am fully abled, sometimes hyperactive and, well, very gay.

**GoldStarRBB** : That is VERY good to know.

**GoldStarRBB** : How old are you? Why have I never asked this before?

**SkySplits94** : Because we're both seniors, and it's kind of self-explanatory. But I'm eighteen, if you must know. I just had a birthday actually. I kind of miss being seventeen. It suddenly feels like I'm supposed to be a grownup now, and, as much as I already feel like one; I don't want the rest of the world to know that.

**GoldStarRBB** : Being a grownup does suck. I've been eighteen for a little while now, and it's not fun.

**SkySplits94** : Well, I have to admit that talking to you has made it just a teeny bit better.

**GoldStarRBB** : Only a teeny bit?

**SkySplits94** : Okay… a lot. You've definitely made for an interesting twist to my senior year, Little Star.

**GoldStarRBB** : Just your senior year?

**SkySplits94** : I feel as if you're fishing for compliments now.

**GoldStarRBB** : I would never.

**SkySplits94** : My LIFE. Not just my year. I am so glad I met you, and I honestly can't wait until next year.

**GoldStarRBB** : Have you told anyone else about New York?

**SkySplits94** : No. My best friend still thinks I'm going to LA with her. She's got some internship lined up and, before I considered staying on the East Coast, I was willing to go with her.

**GoldStarRBB** : But not anymore?

**SkySplits94** : My mind is set on New York.

**GoldStarRBB** : With me?

**SkySplits94** : With you.

**GoldStarRBB** : Do you have any idea how happy that makes me?

**SkySplits94** : I think I have an idea.

**GoldStarRBB** : Why didn't you tell me it was your birthday?

**SkySplits94** : Well, I think that it would be a little too easy for you to figure out who I am if you knew my date of birth. I reckon that you're a little too resourceful for your own good.

**GoldStarRBB** : But I want to know who you are. I want to meet you. When is that supposed to happen?

**SkySplits94** : Soon.

**GoldStarRBB** : I'm going to hold you to that, Pretty Girl. Because, you know, I have ways of convincing you.

**SkySplits94** : Is that so? Hmm. I'd like to see you try.

**GoldStarRBB** : Just you wait.

**SkySplits94** : And I shall be waiting while I'm in dreamland. I have a busy day tomorrow, so I need all the rest I can get. Talk tomorrow?

**GoldStarRBB** : Do you even have to ask?

**SkySplits94** : Goodnight, my little star Xx

**GoldStarRBB** : Goodnight, my pretty girl :*


	3. III

**III**

On days that Rachel doesn't have Glee practice, she attends vocal lessons and dance classes before beginning her late afternoon, three-hour shift at Juniper's Cafe on Main Road. It's a quaint little shop, run by a single mother of two, Juniper Ali, who prepares everything fresh, daily, and mostly alone. Both Rachel and Kurt work shifts at the cafe, preparing drinks and serving customers.

And it's in Juniper's Cafe, on a particular Tuesday afternoon, that Rachel Berry first considers she might be in love. With someone she doesn't even know. Of course, Rachel has been rather careful with how open she is with giving out information to Pretty Girl. In the beginning, the conversation was stilted, cautious and rather redacted. Now, well, it flows rather easily and, most of the time, Rachel speaks freely, giving her opinions and sparking debates. She finds she likes to argue with her Pretty Girl, because she likes to imagine her flushed face and heated gaze.

So, it's during a lull in customers, with her sitting on a tabletop behind the front counter, her feet dangling, that Rachel toys with the idea of those deeper feelings. It happens while she's texting Pretty Girl. They're not talking about anything important, but everything still carries meaning. Anything they talk about offers Rachel that bit more insight into the person who's slowly becoming her entire world.

**Little Star: Okay, no. That's where I draw the line. If you're about to start comparing films such as Pretty In Pink to the drivel that is ANY Adam Sandler film; then I'm afraid we're going to have to redefine this relationship.**

_Pretty Girl: Have I ever told you how much I love it when you use the word 'film' instead of 'movie?' It's incredibly sexy._

**Little Star: Is proper grammar a turn-on for you?**

_Pretty Girl: Oh, you have no idea._

**Little Star: This is good to know, because I have perfect grammar.**

_Pretty Girl: I've noticed._

**Little Star: Oh, I'm sure you have.**

_Pretty Girl: It fills my fantasies._

**Little Star: Tell me more.**

Rachel isn't really sure _what_ they're currently doing, but she's enjoying it. They've always been good at silly banter. Even the not-so-silly banter is satisfying. She's always wanted to find someone who could keep up with her this way; meeting her sentence for sentence, challenging her. She didn't have this with Finn. She _wouldn't_ have this if she were still with Finn. A part of her is even convinced that she wouldn't have _New York_ if she were still with Finn.

Well, isn't that a sobering thought?

Rachel sighs heavily, contemplating what to do next. She's alone up front because this time of day is slow. Juniper generally has only one server working at a time, though she and Kurt do have mutual shifts on the weekends when it's busier.

Besides Marty Fielding, Juniper's one trusted cook, in the kitchen; Rachel is alone and she has time to kill. She could restock the fridges for the morning rush, work on her homework or sit impatiently awaiting Pretty Girl's reply. The eventual decision is taken away from her because, well, Quinn Fabray walks into Juniper's Cafe and steals Rachel's breath. From the look of her, it's obvious she's never been inside the cafe before, but she seems to like it because a small smile tugs at the edges of her mouth as she takes in the rustic decor and mismatched furniture.

Rachel recognises the moment Quinn notices her and, for the briefest moments, they just stare at each other. There's a lot of painful history between them and, as determined as Rachel once was to be Quinn's friend; the blonde always resisted. She can't really blame her, can she? Rachel wouldn't want to be friends with the girl her boyfriend left her for, either.

So… what is she doing here?

Rachel pastes on a smile and practically leaps off the counter. "Hi," she says. "What can I get for you?"

The sound of Rachel's voice gets Quinn moving, and she walks further into the shop, heading towards the front counter, which is an extended and curved breakfast nook with several stools set out for customers. "Hi," she says back, dropping her bag to the floor and carefully sliding onto a stool.

Rachel can tell that Quinn is freshly showered from the slight dampness of her hair and casual appearance. She's probably fresh from Cheerios' practice because her cheeks are still a little flushed from exertion.

"To be honest," Quinn says; "I wasn't intending on getting anything."

"Oh?"

Quinn quirks an eyebrow, and Rachel can't help but stare at the foreign animation on what Rachel considers to be some of the most perfect features she's ever laid eyes on. "You're wondering what I'm doing here then."

"It might have crossed my mind."

Quinn smiles. She _actually_ smiles, and Rachel feels the strangest sensation in her gut. It isn't that she's never objectively noticed the attractiveness of Quinn Fabray. She'd be blind and stupid not to, but this is the first time she's actually reacted to it. "I'm supposed to be meeting Kurt," she explains. "He said he works here?"

"We both do, yes. His shift starts right after mine ends." Rachel glances at her watch. "It's still pretty early though; did he tell you what time to meet?"

Quinn presses her lips together for a moment. "I _am_ a little early," she admits. "See, my car is in the shop, and Santana dropped me off on her way home from practice. I thought I could just kill some time, maybe do some homework or procrastinate to my heart's desire while I wait."

Rachel can't recall a time Quinn has ever said so many words to her... that aren't called with blind rage and obvious hatred. "Santana was just here, huh?"

Quinn smiles again, though it's more of a sympathetic one this time. "Still haven't managed to get her to sit down with you?"

"It's like talking to a wall sometimes," she admits. "We've barely decided on times to meet, let alone a topic. I mean, Mr Pope wants our project proposals by the end of the month, and I'm expecting not to have anything to hand in. April is a very short month."

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Quinn says, resting her hands on the counter, her fingers loosely clasped. "Santana will come around. She's a pretty good student when she wants to be."

Despite her indignation regarding the topic of Santana Lopez, Rachel can't help it when her attention is drawn to Quinn's hands. She has perfect, long fingers with manicured nails and the most attractive knuckles Rachel has ever seen.

Okay.

Don't be weird.

She clears her throat. "Are you sure I can't get you anything while you wait?" she asks.

Quinn's eyes meet hers, hazel _claiming_ brown. "I don't know," she says. "What would you recommend?"

With shaking hands, Rachel retrieves a menu from behind the high counter and sets it down in front of Quinn. She opens it to the first page, the words facing Quinn. "It depends," she murmurs. "What do you feel like? Something to drink? Eat? Both?"

Quinn hums in thought, her head tilting slightly to the side. "Probably something to drink," she finally says. "I definitely need some hydration after the laps I just ran. And, how could I say no to empty calories?"

Rachel turns the pages of the menu until she gets to the list of drinks. "Okay… hot or cold?"

Quinn doesn't even look down at the menu. She just keeps her gaze on Rachel's face. "Cold."

Rachel shifts her attention to a redacted list of drinks. "Is there a particular flavour you're fond of?" she asks. "Chocolate? Oreo? Fruit? Coffee? Caramel?"

Quinn bites at her bottom lip. "Surprise me."

She blinks slowly. God, if she didn't know any better, she'd imagine there's a teasing, almost flirtatious, lilt to Quinn's tone. "Um, okay."

Quinn flashes her a smile, and then slips off the stool. She retrieves her bag, and then goes in search of a suitable table. Rachel watches as she finds a booth and gracefully slides onto the seat. All of Quinn's movements are very deliberate, purposeful, as she takes out books from her bag and sets herself up for what looks like it's going to be a homework marathon.

Rachel's own homework is set up behind the counter, easily accessible when she's not busy and not distracted by her phone. Speaking of. Before she gets started on Quinn's surprise drink, she checks for a reply from her girl, and she's not disappointed.

_Pretty Girl: I dream of a day, when we meet, and you use "your" and "you're" correctly. Gosh, the very thought of it gives me chills._

**Little Star: So, you ALSO dream of the day we meet?**

Rachel sets her phone aside and busies herself preparing Quinn's drink. As far as surprising the Head Cheerleader goes, Rachel doesn't think she _can_ , so she's playing it relatively safe. Without thinking too much about it, she steers clear of anything berry related. Whether it's because Berry is her surname or because she's recently learned her Pretty Girl doesn't particularly like any berries; she doesn't know. So, she settles for an Iced Cinnamon Dolce Latte. It's relatively simple to make, is _very_ popular and tastes delicious.

As she works, she steals glances at Quinn, watching as the blonde works diligently. She's almost on autopilot, her pen writing and the pages turning. Her look of concentration is also kind of adorable, and Rachel can't help noticing when the tip of Quinn's tongue pokes out the side of her mouth. She smiles to herself, shaking her head at just how _human_ the Ice Quinn can be.

When the drink is ready, Rachel takes it over to Quinn's table. Quinn doesn't even notice her approach until she's set the drink down, the sound startling the focused cheerleader.

"Oh, hey," Quinn says, blinking a few times and drawing Rachel's attention to her eyelashes. "Wow," she says when she looks at the drink. "And, what complicated name might this drink have?"

Rachel smiles at her. "Well, it's an Iced Cinnamon Dolce Latte."

"Sounds… fancy."

"Try it," she prompts.

Quinn fakes dubiousness like a pro, which makes Rachel's smile widen, but she does eventually try it, her perfect mouth closing around the straw Rachel placed for her. Rachel watches as Quinn's throat bobs and her eyes close.

Then.

Then she… moans.

Now, Rachel knows Quinn is a pretty girl. Objectively and logically - she has eyes, dammit - but actually interacting with her is painting an entirely different picture of Quinn Fabray. A part of Rachel knows she _shouldn't_ be at all attracted to Quinn, just on principle alone. This girl was responsible for a lot of pain during her freshman year and parts of her sophomore one. She's forever grateful the cheerleader eventually lost interest in her, but now she's sitting right here, moaning and sighing as she drinks a drink _Rachel made_.

Well.

"This is amazing," Quinn says, looking up at Rachel. "Colour me surprised, Berry."

Rachel can't help feeling a little smug. She's just been complimented by _Quinn Fabray_. Granted, it's about a drink she made, but it still counts for something.

"Are you just going to stand there?" she suddenly asks; "or are you going to sit down?"

Rachel startles. "Uh, aren't you busy?"

Quinn exaggerates a sweeping look around the empty cafe. "Are you?"

Rachel concedes to that. "Okay, hold on," she says. "Let me just grab my books." She forces herself to focus on keeping her breathing steady as she walks _calmly_ to fetch her Trigonometry books and phone from behind the counter before returning to Quinn's table and sliding in opposite her. She swallows audibly, fighting off a wave of nerves as she sets out her work. It takes her a little too long to realise that Quinn is staring at her.

"Is - is everything okay?" she asks, suddenly nervous.

Quinn licks her lips, her brow furrowing slightly. "From what I remember, you're _much_ more talkative than this," she says thoughtfully.

Rachel blushes. She _actually_ blushes. "Well, I've changed quite a bit from the person you remember," she says.

Quinn hums. "It seems so," she says, and then returns her attention to her work.

Rachel takes a few deep breaths before she checks her phone for the reply she's _sure_ is going to be there. Once again, Pretty Girl doesn't disappoint her.

_Pretty Girl: Believe me when I tell you I've imagined every scenario imaginable. The good, the bad, the ugly and the great._

**Little Star: Tell me a good one.**

Rachel lays her phone in her lap and forces herself to work on her Trigonometry problem set. She feels as if she's spending her entire life doing Trigonometry, and it's even worse because she knows she's not going to be using any of this in her planned career. It also doesn't help that she's not that great at it, either.

Her phone buzzes in her lap, and she looks up to see Quinn sipping at her drink before she sees to the message that's just come through.

_Pretty Girl: Hmm… Let's see. A good one. Well, I think a good meeting would probably having you be happy to know it's me. We would sit in a coffee shop and talk endlessly as we nurse drink after drink. We would share secret smiles and reach across the table to hold each other's hands. It would be perfect and easy and simple and pressure-free._

_Pretty Girl: It would be everything, and so much more._

**Little Star: It does sound perfect, PG. I envision something like that as well.**

**Little Star: Tell me a bad one.**

In her own mind, Rachel has imagined many bad scenarios as well. She's Rachel Berry. It's practically a given that she assess all options, and she won't ever go so far as to be overly optimistic about anything. Particularly when it involves matters of the heart.

"Hey," Quinn suddenly says, getting Rachel's attention. "Do you have a highlighter that's not blue, pink, green or yellow I could please borrow?"

Rachel blinks twice before she reaches into her own pencil bag. "I have purple and orange," she says.

Quinn traps her bottom lip between her teeth for a beat, and Rachel stares at her mouth. She can't help it. "Can I use both?"

"Sure," she says, sliding the highlighters across the table.

"Thank you."

Rachel can't remember a time Quinn Fabray was ever actually polite to her. High school placed them into moulded positions that neither of them has been able to remove themselves from, so this is all new to her.

Quinn is almost... pleasant. Rachel, admittedly, is wary of all of this because she _is_ still Quinn Fabray, and she won't allow herself to forget that. Then, of course, there's Santana Lopez to consider, who, Rachel believes, is moulded in Satan's image.

Rachel glances at Quinn just as the blonde takes another sip of her drink. There's something oddly easy about this entire situation and Rachel isn't sure what to make of it. Maybe they could be friends if they were to try again, this time. Is this what they're doing? Being friendly?

_Pretty Girl: Well, the bad one is when you're… disappointed. I'm definitely not everyone's cup of tea, and I have this nightmare that you'll find out who I am and decide you actually want nothing to do with me._

Rachel's eyes widen, horrified. But she understands, and it's a bit of a relief to know Pretty Girl has the same fears she does.

**Little Star: Pretty Girl, no. No. I mean, I don't know how to make you feel better about that because I worry about the same thing too, to be honest. Maybe if we agree to to be open and accepting when we first meet; it will be fine? I know I will if you will?**

Rachel's nerves are a little shot, and she can barely concentrate on whatever Trigonometry Identity she needs to use in order to complete the problem. She practically welcomes the arrival of one of the café's regulars and practically rushes to serve him.

Oliver Owens is one of Rachel's favourite people, just on principle alone, because he loves Broadway almost as much as she does. He's pushing eighty years old, but he turns into a child whenever he gets started talking about the stage.

"What time is Juniper getting here?"

"In half an hour," Rachel informs him. "Are you looking forward to pie night? I hear she's doing chicken and mushroom tonight."

"You know it."

Rachel grins at him. "Am I getting you your usual?"

Oliver just raises his eyebrows, and she giggles.

"Coming right up." Rachel ducks down to retrieve a bottle of beer from the small alcohol fridge Juniper keeps under the counter and sets it on the counter in front of Oliver. He always refuses a glass, so she doesn't bother to offer one to him anymore. She opens the top for him and slides it across. "Brownie or Fudge today?" Rachel asks.

"Brownie."

"Good choice."

Once Rachel has Oliver settled with his daily bad habit, she returns to Quinn's table, smiling at the fact that Quinn is almost done with her drink. Because of it, she backtracks to fetch Quinn a glass of water.

Quinn gives her a grateful look. "Thanks."

"Sure thing."

Quinn doesn't take her eyes off Rachel as the brunette resumes her seat. "If I'd known this place sold alcohol, I would have come around much sooner," she says, sounding particularly amused.

Rachel raises her eyebrows. "We don't, actually. The beers are solely for Oliver there. Juniper keeps them here, so he has a place to go since his wife's passing," she explains. "If he didn't come here every night, I don't think he would actually talk to anyone... or eat any decent meals."

Quinn's smile is faint, understanding, and Rachel doesn't think she's seen this look on the cheerleader before. "That's sweet," she says; "and a little sad."

"Life."

"Life, indeed."

They share one more smile before Quinn returns to her work and Rachel picks up her phone.

_Pretty Girl: I definitely will, baby. I suspect I'll have to convince you of my good intentions._

**Little Star: Wait, but DO you have good intentions? ;)**

**Little Star: I shudder to ask, but what would be an 'ugly' scenario?**

During Rachel's wait for a reply, Kurt arrives and he looks surprised to find the two girls sitting together, acting _civil_. He was a witness to some of their more heated arguments and the sight of them just sitting _together_ is enough to throw him. But, well, they both smile at him, and it settles some of his apprehension. He still has at least a half hour before his shift starts, which he intends to put to good use while Quinn is still here. Somehow, the three of them settle into a comfortable - God, did Kurt just refer to Quinn Fabray as comfortable? - working rhythm, with Kurt and Quinn on one side of the table, and Rachel on the other.

Rachel pays attention to the first five minutes of their discussion before she remembers her phone and checks it.

_Pretty Girl: I have only the best of intentions. Though, some of them may or may not be a little… dirty._

Well. Okay. Rachel instantly flushes at the obvious meaning behind those words, and she shifts in her seat, feeling slightly uncomfortable sitting in public. If she pays close enough attention, she would know she's not the only one in the cafe blushing.

_Pretty Girl: As for the ugly scenario, I imagine your anger and your hatred. I imagine your accusations and your hurt. When I'm feeling particularly self-loathing, I imagine a twisted scenario where our meeting somehow leads to my sexuality being revealed._

_Pretty Girl: Logically, I know the probability of any of that happening is low to non-existent, but I still worry. It's a part of my personality I'm not particularly fond of. I've been known to be rather cynical._

For the longest time, Rachel doesn't even know what to reply. Of course, _she_ doesn't think their first meeting would go that badly. They would plan it well, make sure it was relatively private. Just, no wonder Pretty Girl is so against meeting.

**Little Star: Dirty, you say? I'm not sure I follow.**

**Little Star: Oh, Pretty Girl, I don't know what to say to assure you that would never happen, because I know it would never happen. I care about you too much for anything like that, regardless of what you imagine my reaction will be. I also have a bit more tact than that. I'm sorry that this is one of your scenarios, PG. I wish it weren't.**

Rachel sighs heavily, feeling the full force of Pretty Girl's fears. It's the first time she really _thinks_ about who this girl _could_ be. If she's worried about Rachel's anger, hatred, accusations and hurt, then… well, who could she be, and is she justified in being worried? Rachel isn't naive enough to think she knows everyone in their year. She doesn't. There are groups of students she doesn't even know exists, and any one of those groups could be housing her Pretty Girl.

But.

Kurt nudges her with his foot under the table, and she lifts her gaze to him. "You okay?" he mouths.

She just about manages a nod, offering him a small smile. She's relieved to the nines when Juniper arrives, and she uses the opportunity to distract herself with mundane tasks while she waits for her shift to be over and Kurt's to begin. She helps Juniper and Marty in the kitchen when she's not clearing tables and taking drink orders for the customers who have come in for Juniper's famous pie night. Kurt and another boy, Patrick, work the dinner shift on Tuesdays. It'd be too much for one person to handle.

When she's doing her final sweep of the room before she hands over to Kurt and Patrick, she notices that Quinn is gone, and she does all she can not to _react_ to it, even though she can feel the disappointment niggling at her. There are a few bills on the table beside Kurt.

"She left?" Rachel asks Kurt as she packs up her own books.

"A couple of minutes ago, yeah," he says. "She said to tell you thank you for the drink, and goodbye."

Rachel nods thoughtfully, gathering the money to take to the cash register. The tip is insane, almost double the cost of the drink, and she can't help rolling her eyes. Somehow, she just _knows_ Mr Pope's English Project is going to alter all their lives, in some way or another.

"Was it weird having her here?" Kurt asks when she's back at the table.

"Not really," Rachel admits. "She's quite pleasant."

"It's weird, isn't it?"

"A little, but it's probably how she _really_ is… when her friends aren't around and all that."

"Probably," he agrees.

It takes Rachel another fifteen minutes to gather all her things to make her departure. Juniper asks her to stay on a few minutes while she discusses a change she intends to make to one of the dishes on the menu. It's a forced change, given the current shortage of avocados in Lima, but she expects it to go back to normal soon.

Rachel is only half listening.

_Pretty Girl: Dirty, as in one or both of us is definitely going to need a shower afterward. Possibly together._

_Pretty Girl: I wish it weren't either. It doesn't mean I don't trust you, because I do. I find that, even though I have no idea who you are, I trust you more than any other person in my life. Which is just crazy, and scary, and it kind of freaks me out a little bit, if I'm being honest._

**Little Star: Well well, I definitely need to hear more about these… dirty intentions. I like a good shower. Though, I generally have them sans clothing.**

**Little Star: You're not alone there, Pretty Girl. We're definitely in the same boat here.**

_Pretty Girl: Funny that. My showers are without clothing either. What are the chances of that?_

_Pretty Girl: You won't let us go overboard, will you?_

**Little Star: Okay. Okay. Just. The thought of you… naked. Good God.**

**Little Star: I will keep us safe and steady, I promise.**

_Pretty Girl: I take it back, LS. I have no GOOD intentions. Just bad ones. Very bad, dirty ones._

**Little Star: I just have to ask, PG, are you in public right now?**

_Pretty Girl: Not anymore._

**Little Star: Are you as flushed as I imagine?**

_Pretty Girl: Definitely._

**Little Star: I am too. And I'm decidedly NOT in private right now.**

_Pretty Girl: What would you be doing if you WERE in private?_

**Little Star: Oh. My. God.**

"Rachel, did you get that?"

Rachel's head snaps up, her eyes on Juniper. "Hmm?"

Kurt shoots her a knowing look, and Juniper rolls her eyes. "Kurt will explain," Juniper says, shaking her head. "Kids these days."

Rachel offers her an apologetic smile, and then they're dismissed. Kurt teases her, of course, but he does explain the menu change, patiently and amusedly. She can only imagine what he _thinks_ has her so distracted, and she definitely doesn't have the wherewithal to attempt to curb his thoughts.

Because, really.

_Pretty Girl: Oh, baby, God definitely wouldn't like my intentions._

Rachel actually squeaks, her entire body heating up. She hides her face as she lifts her bag, grabs for her car keys and purse, and bids all the patrons goodbye.

**Little Star: What am I ever going to do with you?**

**Little Star: Now, please tell me about the GREAT one!**

Rachel has just sent the text when she leaves the shop, almost stumbling into someone standing on the sidewalk. "Quinn?" she questions, noticing the blonde hair before said cheerleader turns around. "What are you still doing out here?"

Quinn offers her a sheepish smile, shrugging slightly. "I'm waiting on a ride," she says.

Rachel glances down at the time on her phone. "By my calculation, you've been waiting almost half an hour."

She hums in agreement. "That sounds about right."

"Why didn't you just come back inside?"

Quinn smiles, almost secretively. "I was sort of having a conversation that should not be had in public."

"Oh?"

"Are you headed home?"

Rachel nods.

"Well, let me not keep you," she says, taking an unnecessary step back.

Rachel bites her bottom lip in contemplation. Oh… what the hell? "Did you, umm, want a ride?" she asks.

Quinn's eyebrows shoot up. "Really?"

"Yes."

"Because, I mean, I'm sure Puck will remember eventually, or Santana will eventually check her phone."

Rachel just smiles. "Come on," she says. "Who knows how long either of those things is going to take? I would feel much more comfortable knowing you were safely at home."

Quinn tilts her head to the side, regarding Rachel carefully. "Okay."

Without a word, Rachel leads the way to her car, feeling oddly _giddy_ that Quinn Fabray is following _her_. She unlocks her car as soon as she reaches it, and opens the trunk for them both to put their bags away.

"Thank you for doing this," Quinn says once they're safely inside, and Rachel just smiles in response, shifting the car into gear and beginning to pull out of the parking spot. "It's the last time I'm relying on Puck for anything." She almost spits the sentence out, but Rachel definitely won't comment on that.

"It's really okay," Rachel says, finally speaking. "It's not out of the way or anything."

Quinn arches an eyebrow, but it's in amusement. "Do you know where I live, Berry?"

"Uh… doesn't everyone?"

Quinn presses her lips together. "I suppose."

"Feel free to remind me though," Rachel says. "Geography's never been my strongest subject."

"That's not true," Quinn says. "I took World Geography with you last semester, and you were definitely near the top of the pack."

Rachel tries not to read too much into the fact that Quinn even remembers or recalls any of that. "Then I must have it mixed with Trig.," she says, shrugging slightly.

"Because of this English project, I'll probably be coming by the cafe more often," she says; "so, if ever you need a second set of eyes, I'm happy to help."

Rachel's grip on her steering wheel shifts. "Are you - are you actually offering to tutor me?"

Quinn runs a slow hand through her loose hair. "Umm, sure," she says.

"Oh?"

"Unless, um, you don't - "

"No," Rachel suddenly says. "That's - that's really nice of you, Quinn. Thank you."

They fall into comfortable silence, that is interrupted only when Rachel receives a call. It comes through the Bluetooth system, and she has no choice but to let Quinn hear her talk to her father, LeRoy.

"Hi, Daddy," she answers.

"Sweetie, hi," LeRoy responds, his gravelly voice filling the confined space of the car. "We just got home, and you're not here," he says. "Your Dad insisted I call to check up on you."

Rachel laughs lightly. "So, you drew the short straw, huh?"

"As I usually do."

"I'm actually on my way home right now," she tells him. "Just have to make a quick stop to drop off Quinn."

LeRoy immediately perks up. "Quinn, you say?"

Rachel rolls her eyes, unable to ignore the slightly amused look on Quinn's face. "A friend from school, Daddy."

"A _friend_ , you say?"

Despite Rachel's obvious panic, she laughs at her father's antics. "Yeah, yeah, I'll see you in a few. Try to contain yourselves until I get there."

"Drive safe, Sweetheart," he says; "Love you."

"Love you too."

When the call ends, Quinn's eyes turn towards Rachel's face, her smile fading slightly.

"Something wrong?" Rachel asks nervously.

"You called me your friend," she says.

"Well, I definitely wasn't going to explain the intricacies of our non-relationship to my father over the phone, with you sitting right here, no less," she says. "I'll clear it up when I get home."

"Oh."

Rachel blinks. What is happening right now? She isn't sure what to say, so she says nothing, and Quinn is also silent as they drive the rest of the way to Quinn's house. It doesn't look as if anyone is home, from what Rachel can see, and the almost-unnoticed slump in Quinn's shoulders tells her the truth of it.

"Thank you, again," Quinn says, eyeing her house dubiously. "Get home safe."

Before Rachel can get a word out, Quinn is out of the car and moving towards the trunk to retrieve her bag. All she can do is watch as Quinn walks towards the front door, fishes for her keys in her bag, and then opens the front door. Rachel expects her to disappear inside, but she stops to wave.

Rachel waves back.

Well.

When Rachel gets home, she's roped straight into a late dinner with her fathers, during which she fails to clarify that Quinn Fabray is, in fact, _not_ her friend. For some reason, it would feel more like a lie than saying that they _are_. They're acquaintances, at best, and it feels both settling and _not_.

After dinner, Rachel finally heads up to her bedroom to finish up her homework… which she'll do after she checks in with her favourite person. She's tried many times to picture her idea of Pretty Girl, but her face keeps changing, her hair and her eyes. Whatever she looks like, whoever she is, Rachel is just _sure_ she's beautiful.

_Pretty Girl: I could definitely think of a few things you could do with me._

_Pretty Girl: Well, the great scenario is pretty obvious, isn't it? I would see you, and you would see me. I would know, and so would you. There would be no questions and no hesitation. Just happy smiles and knowing laughs._

_Pretty Girl: I would take you in my arms and never let go._

_Pretty Girl: I would definitely kiss you._

_Pretty Girl: And then we'd live happily ever after._

Okay, so, yes, Rachel Berry is probably, definitely, in love.

* * *

**GoldStarRBB** : There she is.

**SkySplits94** : 'Ello :)

**GoldStarRBB** : How was your day?

**SkySplits94** : Interesting.

**GoldStarRBB** : How so?

**SkySplits94** : Can I ask you a serious question?

**GoldStarRBB** : You know you can ask me anything.

**SkySplits94** : Do your parents know you're bisexual? Have you come out to your family?

**GoldStarRBB** : I'm actually an only child, so I have only my parents to worry about, and they do know, yes. I told them pretty early on.

**SkySplits94** : How did they react?

**GoldStarRBB** : As well as can be expected, I suppose. They've never treated it as anything noteworthy. They're rather open and liberal in that regard. They may as well be gay themselves. It's changed nothing.

**GoldStarRBB** : Are you asking because you're considering coming out to your family?

**SkySplits94** : No. I'm definitely not doing that until I've graduated, at least. I'd much rather have somewhere to go (college) when they inevitably kick me out.

**GoldStarRBB** : Are you sure that's how they'll react?

**SkySplits94** : Little Star, I've never been more certain of anything in my entire life.

**SkySplits94** : Except maybe my gayness.

**SkySplits94** : And my feelings for you.

**GoldStarRBB** : That makes me sad.

**GoldStarRBB** : Happy.

**GoldStarRBB** : ECSTATIC!

**SkySplits94** : It's just what it is. There will come a day when they'll have to know the truth about me, and I'll have to face whatever their reaction will be. It's one of the reasons I'm looking at schools in the New York area. My best chance at scholarships is there. It's kind of a family tradition to attend Harvard, and then Harvard Law School. My father attended, my mother too, several of my aunts and uncles, and my sister.

**SkySplits94** : I have a sister, by the way. We're not close at all. She's much older than me, and she was long gone by the time I actually turned into someone worth knowing. She's… perfect, in every way my parents want. I'm just going to end up breaking their hearts.

**GoldStarRBB** : Oh, Pretty Girl, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

**GoldStarRBB** : Maybe they'll surprise you.

**SkySplits94** : Oh, I'm sure they'll be full of surprises, all right.

**SkySplits94** : Sorry to be all morbid. I was just thinking about it. Tell me about your day. How was it? How are you?

**GoldStarRBB** : It's okay. You know you can talk to me about anything and everything, right? I'm here for you as much as you're here for me. As much as our odd little arrangement allows, at least. I'm sending you tons of cyber hugs.

**SkySplits94** : Thank you. I could use those hugs right about now.

**GoldStarRBB** : Oh, Pretty Girl.

**SkySplits94** : So, your day?

**GoldStarRBB** : Not bad, considering. I had an epiphany.

**SkySplits94** : Oh? About what?

**GoldStarRBB** : Okay, well, I had TWO epiphanies. The first one is about me and the second is about you.

**SkySplits94** : Well, colour me intrigued.

**GoldStarRBB** : First, I've come to accept that, at this point in my life, I am very attracted to the female form.

**SkySplits94** : Uh…

**GoldStarRBB** : Don't get yourself twisted into a knot of jealousy now, PG. I just think that acknowledging attraction is a good thing for me.

**GoldStarRBB** : And for you ;)

**SkySplits94** : Well, I'll take your word for it.

**GoldStarRBB** : Good.

**SkySplits94** : And the second?

**GoldStarRBB** : The second, well… I just realised that I really like you.

**GoldStarRBB** : Like, a lot a lot.

**GoldStarRBB** : And, I mean, it's okay if that freaks you out. I'm a little freaked out by it myself, given that, well, I have no idea who you are, but I can't help feeling it, and I've decided not to deny myself the feeling.

**GoldStarRBB** : Pretty Girl?

**GoldStarRBB** : PG?

**SkySplits94** : I'm here. Sorry. I'm HERE.

**GoldStarRBB** : Are you freaked out?

**SkySplits94** : No. I'm a little surprised, actually. You're the first girl I've ever actually LIKED before, so it's still a little new to me, but I'm not going to deny it either. I REALLY like you too, Little Star. Who you are doesn't and shouldn't matter, because you make me happy, and I hope I do the same for you.

**GoldStarRBB** : You do. You definitely do.

**SkySplits94** : In my family, feeling and expressing emotions isn't exactly normal. Accepted, maybe. I'm not used to saying what I feel, but it comes naturally with you. You make it easy. I also suspect it has something to do with the secrecy and anonymity of our relationship. This isn't how I act in my daily life. At all.

**GoldStarRBB** : Whoever you are, I'm certain I'll still like you.

**SkySplits94** : I don't know about that. I sometimes don't even like myself.

**GoldStarRBB** : Then I'll like you enough for the both of us.

**SkySplits94** : You are very special, Little Star.

**GoldStarRBB** : It's what I've been trying to tell the world for YEARS.

**SkySplits94** : They're stupid for not listening.

**GoldStarRBB** : Maybe I'm not shouting it loud enough.

**SkySplits94** : Baby, there's no need to shout it. Whisper it if you need to, and those who are worthy will hear you. They're the only ones who deserve to listen anyway.

**GoldStarRBB** : And you call me the special one.

**SkySplits94** : I also call you dramatic. Don't forget.

**GoldStarRBB** : I doubt I could. I still can't tell if it's an insult or a compliment.

**SkySplits94** : Compliment, definitely. I love drama.

**GoldStarRBB** : Do you really?

**SkySplits94** : No.

**GoldStarRBB** : How did I know that would be your response?

**SkySplits94** : Because you know me a little too well?

**GoldStarRBB** : Or… I'm just a mindreader :D

**SkySplits94** : Is that so?

**GoldStarRBB** : Definitely.

**SkySplits94** : Okay then, what am I thinking right now, Cullen?

**GoldStarRBB** : Did you just make a Twilight reference?

**SkySplits94** : Shut up. What am I thinking?

**GoldStarRBB** : I won't forget this, you know? But, my mind-reading powers are telling me it's time for bed.

**SkySplits94** : Well, look at that, you ARE a mindreader.

**GoldStarRBB** : I'm VERY talented, you see.

**SkySplits94** : I do see.

**SkySplits94** : Goodnight, my little star Xx

**GoldStarRBB** : Goodnight, my pretty girl :*


	4. IV

**IV**

It takes Rachel practically camping out in front of Santana's locker to get the Latina to agree to _meet_ with her to discuss possible topics for their project. Santana doesn't arrive by herself though. She's with Brittany Pierce, who, unlike _many_ people in school, actually smiles widely at Rachel. She even greets her.

"Hi, Rachel," Brittany says brightly.

"Hello, Brittany, how are you?"

"I'm great!"

Before Rachel can respond, Santana is in her face. "What are you doing here, Hobbit?" she practically barks.

Rachel flinches ever so slightly, but she squares her shoulders and looks Santana right in the eye. "Because you're being exceptionally unresponsive, I have decided to begin this project without you. I'm sure Mr Pope would _love_ to know how you're not participating." She ignores the narrowing of Santana's eyes. "So, this is all I'm going to say: I am working on our project during lunch today," she says. "I will be in the library doing _our_ project, and I think we would both appreciate it if you offered your assistance. I mean, I doubt you would want to present a paper on Broadway stars come the end of May, now would you?" Smiling sweetly, she turns on her heel and disappears before Santana's ire can manifest in a physical way.

Rachel isn't sure what to expect when lunch time _does_ roll around, but she was being half serious about the work she intends to do. It's doubtful the project will be on Broadway stars, but she had to say something to get the Latina interested.

Kurt looks suitably impressed with her when she explains her 'meeting' with Santana during their free period in the choir room. "It's about time you did something," he says. "We have a little over three weeks to get the proposal done, and I didn't know it required so much work until Quinn started planning it out."

"So, you've decided on a topic then?"

He nods distractedly as he shuffles through the pile of sheet music on the piano. "She's a closeted feminist, you know?"

Rachel's head snaps up. "She's a what?"

Kurt doesn't even take note of her reaction to his choice of words. "She's very educated in the plight of women through the ages," he explains offhandedly. "Their revolutions, as it were, so _that_ half of the project was a no-brainer."

Rachel just listens in silence.

"My contribution comes in fashion, as suspected, and we've found a way to combine those two together quite well." He pulls a song out of the pile. "We're looking at how fashion has helped or hindered various feminine movements over the years."

Rachel has to admit it's a rather brilliant way to incorporate both their interests and still manage to meet the topic criteria Mr Pope set out for them. It's probably even what their teacher is looking for, putting them in pairs. It has to be for a reason other than to wipe out half of the graduating class through probable, definite murder.

He's practically _Thanos_.

"So, you two are getting along then?" Rachel asks.

Kurt nods, making his way to where Rachel is sitting in the risers. He settles down in the chair beside hers and pats her knee sympathetically. "I'm sure Santana will come around."

"What do I do if she doesn't?" she asks miserably. "I mean, I literally just threatened to tell on her to Mr Pope. She must think I'm such a child."

"Oh, honey, you _are_ such a child," he teases. "You're barely taller than one."

"Sure," she says, rolling her eyes. "Way to kick me when I'm down, Hummel."

He chuckles lightly. "I'm sorry," he says, but he definitely doesn't sound it. "What will make you feel better?"

"Nothing," she grumbles.

"Tell me about your secret girl," he says, and, almost as if she's been electrocuted, Rachel perks up. Kurt has to force himself not to tease her about it because, honestly, anyone who can make Rachel Berry's face light up that way has to be something special.

"She's lovely," Rachel gushes. "Honestly, Kurt, she's just wonderful."

Kurt has seen her be in love before. Well, what she thought was love, but this is new. Before, with Finn, she second-guessed everything. She questioned herself and him and where she stood with him, because Finn's popularity was always very important to him… and Rachel didn't exactly fit into the popular crowd.

Still, Finn _tried_ , and failed time and time again. Rachel took the endless hits because she _loved_ him, until she just didn't anymore.

Or, she never really did.

But now, the way her eyes are shiny and bright, Kurt knows whatever she's feeling for this online friend is something different. Somehow, by some cosmic accident, this is more real. It's truer, and Rachel doesn't seem at all burdened by the anonymity and secrecy. In fact, it's probably made her freer; less conscious of who she is or her family or even her appearance. She's just as faceless and nameless as the stranger on the other end of her computer.

Kurt hums in response, smiling at her. "So, according to a statistic I read a couple of weeks ago, one in five people leans towards something of the LGBT variety. I don't know what that translates to when it comes to teenagers, but you've basically inadvertently discovered yet another closeted gay student in this place."

Rachel nods slowly. "I suppose I have," she says. "I assume you have your theories about her identity."

"Oh, I have plenty," he says casually, smirking slightly. "I mean, it can't be anyone obvious. Admittedly, I toyed with the idea it was Santana, but then the cosmic coincidence that would make her _your_ partner for this project is just too much."

Despite herself, Rachel actually shudders at the idea of Pretty Girl being Santana.

"And, Santana's never been a closeted anything," Kurt says. "She would happily have sex with Brittany in the corridors if she could."

"That's true," she agrees.

"I assume _you've_ also given it a lot of thought."

"It's _all_ I thought about when we first started texting each other," she explains. "When we were just on the computer, I didn't really wonder too much about it, but then she started mentioning things about her school day _while_ we were in school, and of course I was intrigued. But there are so many students in this school, and I gave up trying to figure out who she was pretty quickly."

"Do you prefer not knowing?" Kurt asks, picking up on something in her voice.

Rachel bites at her bottom lip for a moment. "Is it weird that I do?" she questions. "For now, at least. I don't think either of us is ready for it."

"Do you think you ever will be?"

"She wants us to get to graduation first," Rachel tells him. "I mean, it seems like a long way away, but the weeks are flying past and I'm busy enough not to be dwelling on it. I think everyone should get to know people this way. It's… less pressure."

"Aren't you worried at all?"

"Of course, I am," she says, thinking back to Pretty Girl's various scenarios. She hasn't imagined anything 'ugly,' but definitely the good, the bad and the great. Definitely the great. "I think it helps that we're worried about the same things."

"Oh? She's also worried you're actually a serial killer?" he questions jokingly, and he receives a well-timed, painful punch to the arm for his efforts.

* * *

When lunch finally rolls around, Rachel stops by her locker to gather the required books before making her way to the library with what she assumes to be her 'game face' on, because she's going to need all the patience and strength to get through this hour… if Santana decides to show up.

**Little Star: Wish me luck.**

_Pretty Girl: Good luck!_

_Pretty Girl: Can I ask why I'm wishing you luck?_

**_Little Star: You can ask ;)_ **

_Pretty Girl: Funny. Why am I wishing you luck?_

**Little Star: I may or may not be six feet under by the time my lunch hour is over.**

_Pretty Girl: So dramatic._

**Little Star: I thought we already established I lived for the drama.**

Rachel doesn't even have to look where she's going when she enters the library because she has a very specific table she occupies whenever she's in here. It's near the back, far enough from the communal study area not to be disturbed by whispers and murmuring, but still suitably visible for anyone looking for her.

As she sets up to get working - regardless of Santana's presence - her phone is notably silent. Maybe it's better. She has to focus anyway. She's already compiled a list of possible topics she would probably consider writing about, so she intends to filter that down. Looking at what Quinn and Kurt have decided to do makes her think finding a suitable combination of topics could be quite neat. Music and… something?

Rachel doesn't notice them until they're in front of her, casting a shadow over her books. She looks up to see Santana, Quinn and Brittany - the Unholy Trinity - standing over her. One is scowling, one looks determined, and one looks very happy about something, respectively.

"Oh, hello," Rachel finds herself saying, trying desperately not to feel intimidated.

Ignoring Rachel's greeting, Quinn pushes Santana forward, looking stern. "Sit down," she instructs.

"No ways," Santana argues. "I'm not sitting _next_ to her, Fabray."

"Sit. Down," Quinn grinds out. "It makes it easier to work together if you're sitting next to each other."

"I fucking hate you," Santana bites back.

Quinn looks completely unfazed. "Sit your ass down, so we can get this over with, would you? I have better things to do than babysit you and Berry."

Santana huffs in annoyance, but she eventually complies and settles into the chair beside Rachel. "Touch me, and I will cut you," Santana threatens her fellow brunette, and Rachel visibly shudders.

Rachel looks to Quinn and Brittany, silently asking them not to leave her alone with this mad girl.

Quinn seems to read her expression. "Don't worry," she says, sounding slightly amused. "We're staying."

Rachel lets out a sigh of relief, and Quinn just chuckles as she gracefully slides into the seat opposite Rachel. They exchange a quick look, some sort of understanding passing between them. Quinn doesn't smile, but her eyes are kind. They're actually rather fascinating, a deep hazel in colour with flecks of amber, and maybe a touch of gold if one looks close enough.

It's not long before Santana is claiming Rachel's attention and Quinn is dropping her gaze to her own work. It's a little difficult for Rachel to relax, given that she's surrounded by the three most popular girls in school, who also happen to be some of the scariest. She knows it's mainly to do with the fact she doesn't quite _understand_ them, and this short hour is definitely not going to be enough for that to happen.

It's also surprising to her that Santana isn't the one who unsettles her.

It's Quinn.

"Okay, I'm down with the music," Santana says, _finally_. "And, I swear, if you tell anyone I said this, I will hurt you, but I kind of like the idea of coupling it with the progression of gay rights."

Rachel shifts nervously. "You do?"

Santana nods. "Music has played a huge role in various movements," she says, nodding in Quinn's direction. "That bitch could go on and on about it if you gave her the chance. I mean, we could look at Woodstock, for instance, and Pride. There are more and more songs being written by gay artists, and about gay love, and I'm sure we'll have literature a plenty."

Rachel nods thoughtfully while she writes down everything Santana is saying, having designated herself the note-taker in this unlikely partnership.

"And, I mean, it's a subject that's close to home for both of us," Santana casually says, and Rachel freezes mid-letter. Wait. What? It's a good thing Santana isn't really paying attention to her, because she just keeps talking. "You with your gay dads, and me with, well, my Britts here."

Rachel lets out a relieved breath, and just catches Brittany looking at her curiously. She offers her a soft smile, and then returns her attention to Santana. It's amazing what they can get done when they actually sit down to work. Who knew? Rachel certainly didn't.

"Are we done now?" Santana asks. "I'm fucking starving, and you've just stolen my lunch hour."

Rachel just blinks. "Sure, I think that's enough for today. I'll start the document on Google Docs, and then we can both edit."

"So, I never have to see your Hobbit face again then?"

"I did not say that," she says primly, shaking her head. "Santana, be serious."

"I _am_ being serious," she says. "We can do this lovely project completely separate from each other. Isn't that great?"

Rachel huffs in annoyance, which earns her a small giggle from Brittany and an amused smile from Quinn.

Santana doesn't wait for a response as she rises to her feet, lifting her bag, and starts to leave. Brittany immediately follows, but Quinn lingers.

"She's just messing with you, you know?" Quinn says, slowly packing away her own things. "She'll pull her own weight. If she wants to make it to California, she doesn't have much of a choice."

"She's going to California?"

Quinn nods. "That's the plan."

And, if Rachel picks up on an odd lilt of bitterness in her tone, she makes no comment on it. "That's cool," she says. "It's... really far away."

"That _is_ part of the plan," Quinn agrees, zipping her pencil bag closed. "We're pretty much willing to do just about anything to get out of this place."

"Where are you headed?"

"At the moment, California as well."

Quinn's tone of voice piques Rachel's interest. "But...?"

The smile Quinn gives her is mischievous, and Rachel has to hold her breath to stop herself from making a sound at the sight of it. "Who knows?" she says coyly. "Plans change and all that."

"I suppose."

"You're headed to New York, right?"

"That's always been the plan."

Quinn smiles one last time as she rises from her seat. "Oh, would you mind telling Kurt that I might be a little late tonight."

"Tonight?"

"It's Tuesday again," she says, arching an eyebrow. "Aren't you also working tonight?"

"Oh, umm, yes."

Quinn cocks her head to the side. "Until then, Berry."

Rachel just manages to wave awkwardly as Quinn spins on her heel and leaves the brunette in her wake. She can't be sure why she thinks it, but she just knows this project is going to bring more drama than Rachel Berry is prepared for.

And, for whatever reason, she has a feeling it starts and ends with Quinn Fabray.

* * *

"That looks like a Trig. face."

Rachel looks up from her Trigonometry problem set, her face still scrunched in concentration. She didn't even hear the door open, but a freshly showered Quinn Fabray is suddenly in her face and she automatically smiles at the sight of her. "Hello, Quinn," she says.

"Hey," she returns, slipping onto a stool, clasping her hands together and smiling knowingly. "Are you working on Trig. behind there?"

"I am, yes," she says. "It's giving me a headache."

"I've got both painkillers and my brain to help," Quinn tells her; "take your pick."

Despite herself, Rachel giggles. "I think I'll go for the latter."

Quinn beams. "Meet you at the table," she says brightly, before sliding off the stool.

Rachel automatically reaches for her hand to stop her, and they both freeze at the contact. She quickly retracts her hand and clears her throat. "Sorry," she says. "Just, umm, did you want something?"

She quirks an eyebrow, just waiting.

"What do you feel like? Something to drink? Eat? Both?" she asks, basically repeating the words she said the first time they did this.

Quinn hums in thought, her head tilting slightly to the side. "Something to drink," she finally says.

Rachel turns the pages of the menu until she gets to the list of drinks. "Okay… hot or cold?"

Quinn doesn't even look down at the menu. She just keeps her gaze locked on Rachel's face, taking in the strong lines and soft curves of her features. "Hot."

Rachel shifts her attention to a redacted list of drinks. "Hot... hmm."

"Surprise me."

Rachel's gaze meets hers, and she feels that inexplicable feeling that this is flirting. It's not, she knows, because it can't be. There is absolutely no way in hell Quinn Fabray - _Quinn Fabray_ \- is flirting with her. But… does she want her to be?

No.

Just, no.

Slow down there, Rachel Berry.

She watches Quinn make her way to the same table she's been commandeering, and she can't help her smile. For some reason, the idea of Quinn having a specific table in the cafe fills her with an indescribable feeling. All she knows is that it's warm, whatever the feeling is.

Speaking of warm, hot things... she has a drink to prepare. It doesn't take her long to decide on what to make, and Quinn is already elbow deep in her own homework by the time Rachel slides in opposite her. They immediately get to work on Rachel's Trigonometry, with Quinn pausing every few minutes to sip at what she claims is a _heavenly_ drink. Rachel can't help her blush, which, mercifully, disappears by the time Kurt arrives.

They're an unlikely trio but Rachel can't shake the feeling that they just _fit_. Somehow, for whatever reason, they're able to get along.

Rachel will take it.

* * *

"Do you need another ride?" Rachel asks Quinn, watching as the blonde hovers near the door. Her shift's just finished, and it's time to head home.

But.

Quinn turns her head to look at her, looking thoughtful. "If you don't mind," she says. "I should be getting my car back tomorrow."

"I don't mind at all," she says, and it's the truth.

Quinn reaches for the handle of the door and holds it open for Rachel to go through. The brunette is so surprised, she hesitates, and Quinn places a gentle hand on the small of her back to get her moving.

"Oh, uh, thank you," Rachel says awkwardly, and rushes out, doing her level best to ignore the tingling where Quinn touched her. That's… odd. She's aware of Quinn following her to her car, and she uses the fresh air to calm her suddenly-racing heart. Okay.

Okay.

Rachel feels much better once they're on their way, her focus on the road and not on the confusing blonde sitting next to her. Okay, it isn't as if Quinn has actually _done_ anything to confuse Rachel - not purposefully, at least - but Rachel still feels somewhat flustered by the person Quinn is being. This _can't_ be Quinn, can it?

When Rachel's phone starts to ring, signalling LeRoy calling, she just shakes her head at the timing of it all. It's almost as if he planned it, and she definitely wouldn't put it past him.

"Hi, Daddy," she answers, almost caught up in how deja vu this all is. "Did you just get home?"

"I drew the short straw again," he teases. "Are you on your way?"

"Just dropping Quinn off."

"Quinn, huh?"

From the corner of Rachel's eye, she can see Quinn's smile grow. "Yes, Daddy, Quinn."

"You know, Sweetie, we have plenty of food here," he says, somewhat coyly, and Rachel resists the urge to groan. "I don't know if we'll be able to finish it all, just the three of us."

Rachel wants to facepalm, but Quinn just giggles quietly. "Sure, Daddy," Rachel says. "I'll ask Quinn to join us, okay?"

"Okay, Sweetheart," he says. "See you in a few. Love you."

"Love you too."

There's considerable silence once the calls ends, and Rachel uses the opportunity to consider how she's supposed to tackle asking _Quinn Fabray_ to join her for dinner with her _fathers_. Quinn Fabray, who is a devout Christian, self-proclaimed virgin and very scarily silent right now.

"So," Rachel begins; "I - uh - I don't suppose you'd like to join us for dinner."

"Do you want me to?" she asks. "I mean, if it makes you uncomfortable, just tell me."

" _Would_ you come?"

"I wouldn't want to disappoint your father," she says. "Does - does he know who I am?"

"He knows _of_ you, yes," she answers. "But I haven't spoken about you in a few years."

"I assume it was nothing good either?"

"No," she says, deciding to be truthful. "In my defence, you were rather awful to me, Quinn."

Quinn, purposefully, says nothing.

"And, not in my defence, I probably exaggerated a few things. I was kind of blinded by my need to have Finn."

Quinn hums in thought. They were both blinded about a lot of things when it came to Finn Hudson.

"If it makes you feel better, he wouldn't have made the offer if he didn't want to," Rachel tries to assure her.

"So, I'm not going to walk into some Berry Lair, and just not ever emerge?"

Despite her indignation, Rachel laughs. "I promise no harm shall come to thee."

"Are you going to make me eat something vegan?"

"Not if you don't want to," she says, a little caught off guard that Quinn even _knows_ that about her. "I'd definitely implore you to try it, but my Daddy isn't a vegan. He's very much a meat-eater, and he's normally responsible for the cooking."

Quinn smirks.

"What?"

She giggles behind a hand, flushing brightly. "You said your father's a meat-eater."

It takes Rachel a moment to get it, and the widening of her eyes is almost comical. "Quinn Fabray, that's just gross," she mutters. "They're my _parents_."

Quinn just laughs.

"I think you've been spending too much time with Noah," Rachel quips.

"Probably," she says; "but this one screams of Santana."

"I never thought I would see the day," Rachel says, glancing at Quinn's red cheeks.

"I know it's surprising," Quinn deadpans. "I sometimes have a personality."

* * *

Dinner isn't as awkward as Rachel first imagines.

It's obvious her fathers _know_ who Quinn is when Rachel introduces them, and the blonde is initially hesitant. She's as polite as ever, though - she has good upbringing in that sense - and LeRoy immediately takes a liking to her. Hiram is a bit more wary but, as the evening goes on, he warms to her.

Rachel intends to tease him about it later because it's clear to her he's only changed his tune because Quinn mentions being a John Grisham fan. The two of them end up having a twenty minute conversation about his latest work, and Rachel can just watch in fascination as Quinn Fabray reveals yet another side to her. Rachel absently wonders just how many people are privy to this part of her, and she feels a little smug.

When it starts getting late, Quinn mentions that she should be getting home, which has Rachel slipping on her coat and shoes to make the short drive to Quinn's house. Quinn thanks Rachel's fathers for having her and they both invite her back. Rachel can't be sure if the Head Cheerio will ever take them up on their sincere invitations.

"See, that wasn't so bad," Quinn says once they're on their way.

"It was actually rather nice," Rachel agrees.

"There you go again, sounding surprised," she says lamely, pouting slightly. She probably doesn't even realise she's doing it.

Rachel just chuckles lightly, doing her best not to be distracted by Quinn's lips. It's a futile endeavour though. How has she never noticed how pink and perfect her lips are?

"Can I ask you something?" Quinn says.

"Uh, sure."

"It's just that you mentioned him earlier, and I can't help wondering about it," she says; "but why did you and Finn break up?"

Picking up on an odd lilt to Quinn's voice, Rachel quirks an eyebrow. "You almost sound sad about it," she attempts to joke.

Quinn doesn't look at all amused. "You don't sound as if _you_ are."

Rachel swallows. "I was, at the time, but it's been a while since then."

"But _why_?"

Rachel sighs, trying to find the words to explain why her relationship fizzled and died without actually having to tell the truth. Words like 'bisexual' should never be used in the presence of All-American girl, Quinn Fabray. "We were just going in different directions," she finally says. "We wouldn't have worked out in the end, and we realised that before we reached _the end_."

Quinn blinks slowly. "And, how long did it take you to realise he wasn't going to be _the one_?"

Rachel can't quite figure out the tone of her voice, but she's just going to roll with it. "A few weeks before we broke up," she says, and she's really referring to the first few weeks of their junior year. Even while she and Finn were still building a relationship, Rachel just _knew_ there was something more she was carrying inside of her.

And, really, the allure of Finn fell away when she wasn't fighting Quinn for him. He seemed to lose all appeal the second Quinn Fabray decided her pride and reputation far transcended a _boy_ with a stupid smile, who clearly no longer wanted her. If Rachel allowed herself to read into that even a little bit, she would be terrified of what she would find.

"You weren't together for very long," Quinn points out.

It's true. She and Finn didn't last nearly as long as she thought they would, and definitely not as long as Quinn and Finn had been together. "No, I suppose we weren't."

Quinn turns her head to look at her. "Was it all worth it then? Just for a few months?"

"It was," she answers. "I learned a lot about life and love and relationships and _myself_."

"Well, as long as you got all you could out of it," Quinn says, somewhat hastily, and Rachel's grip shifts on the steering wheel. "It sucks that it didn't work out, though."

Somehow, Rachel just knows not to reply to Quinn's words, but she does anyway. "Why do you care so much?" she finds herself asking, trying to figure out where Quinn is coming from.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I thought you would be happy we crashed and burned," she says, sounding slightly amused. She almost scoffs at the thought that Quinn would be anything but ecstatic that her relationship with Finn didn't work out.

"And why would I be happy with that?" she asks, her voice picking up an edge that should warn Rachel, and it does. "Don't you think, with everything we all went through, I would be the biggest supporter of Finn and Rachel? It's the only way all the shit you two put me through would be worth it, isn't it?"

Rachel presses her lips together, thoroughly chastised.

"If you think I wouldn't care that you two _didn't_ work out, then I'm afraid you're mistaken, Berry," she says. "I know it _looks_ like I don't care about anything because I don't parade my feelings about like the rest of you, but I do. I know I _pretend_ things don't hurt me, but Finn leaving me for you _did_ , and of course I care that you broke up because it basically means I went through losing him and then watching you two be together for _nothing_."

Rachel isn't sure what to say to her as she pulls into the Fabray driveway. She comes to a stop and neither of them says anything.

Eventually, Quinn sighs. "Forget I said anything," she says. "Thank you for the ride."

Rachel reaches out for her arm when Quinn starts to get out of the car. "Quinn?"

She takes a deep breath, and turns back to look at her, drawing on all the patience in the world. "What?"

"I didn't know you were - "

"Not such a heartless bitch?"

"No," she says. "I was going to say _hurt_ , by what happened."

"It's surprising, isn't it?" she says sarcastically, and removes her arm from Rachel's grip. "Who knew the Ice Quinn had feelings?"

Rachel swallows audibly. "I was clearly wrong about you."

"It's okay," Quinn says, moving to get out of the car; "most people are."

And then she's gone.

* * *

_Pretty Girl: Go online._

**Little Star: I'm already waiting.**

* * *

**GoldStarRBB** : Hi! How are you? How was your day?

**GoldStarRBB** : Quick question: what would you get someone to apologise for royally sticking your foot in your mouth?

**SkySplits94** : Uh. I'm good. It was good. Enlightening.

**SkySplits94** : Food? Food always seems to work.

**SkySplits94** : Why? What did you do?

**GoldStarRBB** : Why do you automatically assume I'M the one who did something?

**SkySplits94** : Do you really want me to answer that?

**GoldStarRBB** : You're lucky I like you.

**SkySplits94** : I am, yes.

**SkySplits94** : But, really, what did you do?

**GoldStarRBB** : I may or may not have made a faux pas, and I need to make up for it somehow.

**SkySplits94** : Food, definitely. Nothing says sorry for inadvertently insulting you like a batch of brownies. Or fudge. I love fudge, even though it goes STRAIGHT to my hips.

**GoldStarRBB** : I will take your suggestions into consideration. Thank you, baby.

**GoldStarRBB** : Why was your day enlightening?

**SkySplits94** : I've seen the future, Little Star. I've seen happiness and I've seen that love CAN exist for every kind of person… even in this backwards excuse for a town.

**SkySplits94** : I mean, I found you, didn't I?

**GoldStarRBB** : Indeed, you did. Even if you had to go through an NYU chat room to do so.

**SkySplits94** : It'll be quite the story to tell one day.

**GoldStarRBB** : Do any of your friends know about me? Wait. Do any of your friends know you're gay?

**GoldStarRBB** : Um, besides your best friend, that is.

**SkySplits94** : My best friends both know I'm gay. They're kind of… special cases, and they've definitely helped me come to terms with who I am. I don't quite know how to explain our situation to my best friend though, because she would probably make it her mission to find out who you are. Actually, she'd probably put up flyers and call an impromptu class meeting solely for the purpose of embarrassing me.

**GoldStarRBB** : Would she really out you?

**SkySplits94** : What? No. Haha. She'd disguise it as something else, but I get embarrassed really easily, and she LOVES to say and do things to make me blush. Which, admittedly, is kind of everything she says and does.

**GoldStarRBB** : So… you blush a lot, huh?

**SkySplits94** : Lots of people blush, Little Star.

**SkySplits94** : But, if this is the one thing you take away from this conversation, then, yes, I blush a lot. Like, A LOT. I'm very pale.

**GoldStarRBB** : Wow, I'm learning so much. One head, ten toes, ten fingers and now pale skin. What do I have to do to get the colour of your eyes?

**SkySplits94** : I would be willing to part with that information for a batch of brownies.

**GoldStarRBB** : That can be arranged.

**GoldStarRBB** : Wait. Are you being serious?

**SkySplits94** : No. I'm not that easy.

**GoldStarRBB** : A girl can dream.

**GoldStarRBB** : Pretty Girl, have you ever kissed a girl?

**SkySplits94** : I have, yes.

**SkySplits94** : Not since we've started this whole thing, though. Not anyone in Lima. I told you I spent my summer finding and accepting myself, and then we visited my sister over Thanksgiving, and there was a girl who seemed to take a liking to me while we were there. First kisses are scary in general, and my first lesbian kiss was terrifying, but she was kind and sweet about it. She even called me a 'baby gay.'

**GoldStarRBB** : That's cute.

**SkySplits94** : When we visited again over Winter Break, we kissed again. I was more sure this time, more certain, and I have it on good authority that I'm a borderline phenomenal kisser.

**GoldStarRBB** : That's good to know.

**SkySplits94** : I don't intend to kiss her again, even though the plan is to visit again over Spring Break.

**SkySplits94** : The next person I intend to kiss is you.

**GoldStarRBB** : That's even better to know.

**GoldStarRBB** : You would actually be my first girl kiss.

**SkySplits94** : Then I promise to be very kind and sweet about it...

**SkySplits94** : …for the first ten seconds. Because, I have phenomenal skills to show off, you know?

**GoldStarRBB** : You won't hear me complaining.

**SkySplits94** : No, I won't… because your mouth will be very occupied.

**GoldStarRBB** : I find it a little frightening that you can be this flirty with written words. I mean, you must be DANGEROUS in person.

**SkySplits94** : Says the girl who can make me swoon at the drop of a hat.

**GoldStarRBB** : I imagine the sight of your swooning is also dangerous.

**SkySplits94** : Oh, yes. I'm just a walking danger, Little Star. If your idea of flirting is calling me 'dangerous,' then you need to reevaluate.

**GoldStarRBB** : Uh. Danger is sexy…?

**GoldStarRBB** : Ergo, YOU are sexy.

**SkySplits94** : I don't see the correlation, but I'm going to let you have it.

**GoldStarRBB** : Because I called you sexy?

**SkySplits94** : No.

**SkySplits94** : Yes.

**SkySplits94** : Though, I should point out that it's kind of impossible for you to know.

**GoldStarRBB** : Look at you.

**GoldStarRBB** : Physically, maybe, but I just KNOW you're the most beautiful person on the planet.

**SkySplits94** : And… now, you're testing the limits of my blushing capabilities.

**GoldStarRBB** : It was the plan all along.

**SkySplits94** : Well, you've accomplished what you set out to do.

**GoldStarRBB** : I wish I could see it.

**SkySplits94** : One day, Little Star.

**GoldStarRBB** : Soon?

**SkySplits94** : Definitely.

**GoldStarRBB** : I can't wait.

**SkySplits94** : Little Star?

**GoldStarRBB** : Hmm?

**SkySplits94** : It's time for bed.

**GoldStarRBB** : Sigh.

**GoldStarRBB** : If we must.

**SkySplits94** : Goodnight, my little star Xx

**GoldStarRBB** : Goodnight, my pretty girl :*


	5. V

**V**

"Umm, Berry, what are those?"

Rachel's smile falters only slightly at the slight scowl on Quinn's face. She definitely should have waited until they were at Juniper's to do this. Why did she think talking to the Head Cheerio in a school corridor was going to be anything but a terrible idea? "They're cookies," she says anyway, pushing through. It's okay. The world isn't going to burn to the ground just because she's talking to Quinn Fabray at school.

At least, she hopes it's not.

"Okay," Quinn says, resisting the urge to look around at the people probably gawking at them. "Why are you giving me cookies?"

Swallowing her nerves, Rachel opens the container to reveal the cookies, which have all been iced with the words 'I'm sorry.' "They're apology cookies," she explains. "I was, umm, insensitive and assuming the other day, and I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry for that."

Quinn just stares at her for the longest time, her brow furrowed. She looks deep in thought for a moment before she shakes her head, as if trying to clear it. "You're actually apologising to me?"

"I am."

"And you baked me cookies to emphasise that fact?"

"I did, yes."

"You know you didn't have to do this, right?"

"I know."

Shifting her weight slightly, Quinn takes the container from Rachel. "Thank you," she says gently, taking a cookie out and then offering it back to Rachel.

"What's this?" Rachel asks, perplexed.

"I'm sorry too."

"For what?"

"Lots of things," she says, suddenly sounding very serious. "But mainly for making it so that you would assume those things about me in the first place."

Dumbfounded and silent, Rachel's hand lifts to take the cookie from Quinn, their fingers brushing and sending a shock of warmth right through her arm and into her chest.

Quinn's smile looks a little nervous as she retracts her own hand. "I can't say I've never wanted a batch of these for my own," she admits quietly. "Are they vegan?"

Rachel doesn't have the brain capacity to acknowledge that Quinn still remembers that she actually has a habit of making 'I'm sorry' cookies, but she does manage to smile timidly and shake her head no.

_Get it together, Berry._

"Then, you probably won't be able to eat that," Quinn says, tilting her head to the side. "But, still, thank you, again, for cracking what would have been baby chickens for me," she says, a playful grin on her face that definitely isn't helping with Rachel's recovery. "I do appreciate it, even though they're definitely going to go straight to my hips."

There's a flicker of recognition at the back of Rachel's brain, but her head is already swimming with so many other things. What is happening right now?

"Well, I better get to class," Quinn says.

"Oh, umm, yeah," Rachel stutters. "Me too."

"See you tonight?" Quinn asks.

She frowns.

"Thursday. At the cafe," she clarifies.

"Oh, yes, definitely," Rachel says, and then Quinn is gone.

What was _that_?

* * *

Rachel manages to recover from her encounter with Quinn enough to get through the day. Barely. Kurt keeps throwing her concerned looks, and he eventually draws her aside during lunch and blatantly asks her if she's high.

"What?" she shrieks, her eyes wide. "Of course not. We're at school, Kurt, and I would never do that to my voice."

"Then what's wrong with you?" he questions. "You look as if you're contemplating the secrets of life... or plotting someone's murder. Both?"

She sighs tiredly. "I'm confused."

"Okay...?" he questions. "As far as I'm aware, you've been confused your entire life."

She laughs lightly. "Thank you, Kurt."

"What are you confused about?"

"So many things."

"Are we talking about your secret lover?"

Rachel snaps to attention at the mention of Pretty Girl, and she immediately reaches for her phone. God. She's barely even thought about her special girl all day, and she immediately feels _awful_. Quinn Fabray should not be putting her in such a tizzy. How dare she, really?

Rachel has a few texts from Pretty Girl that she hasn't read or replied to in several hours, and her heart drops because she feels _awful_.

_Pretty Girl: I think my hair is falling out. GOD. Will you still like me if I'm bald?_

_Pretty Girl: I figured it out. I'm PULLING out my own hair. I don't realise I'm doing it until I am, and it usually happens when my best friend is driving me insane, my teachers are driving me insane or my parents are driving me insane. So... basically, all the time. I'll definitely be bald by the time I turn nineteen._

_Pretty Girl: Oh, I see. You're not replying because you WON'T like me if I'm bald. So superficial._

Rachel sighs.

Kurt's brow furrows. "Okay, what's up with you? You're usually all smiles when you read her messages?"

"I don't know what's wrong with me," she confesses.

"There are a lot of things wrong with you, Rach."

She huffs. "Sometimes, I really wonder why I stay your friend."

"You would have none if you didn't."

"Point taken."

Kurt gently bumps his shoulder against hers. "Come on," he says. "Let's grab lunch at Martha's. I feel like a dessert burrito."

She scrunches up her face. "Do you have any idea how bad that is for you?"

"No, but I have a feeling you're about to tell me," he says, spinning on his heel and proceeding to lead the way.

"It's going to go straight to your hips," she calls out, following close behind.

* * *

"Hey," Quinn says, entering the cafe with a familiar smile on her face. Rachel is almost used to seeing it by now, even though it's only been a few days of coincidental interaction. There's just something about Quinn that feels... familiar. She doesn't understand how that could be because she and Quinn have had very few conversations and most of those were heated and involved Finn Hudson.

They also happened at a time when Rachel couldn't allow herself to appreciate Quinn's physical form.

"You're early," Rachel says, returning her smile.

Quinn shrugs, as she settles onto the stool she's claimed as hers. "I didn't want to head home after practice, just to come back out again," she says. "And, if I recall correctly, somebody promised to blow my mind."

Rachel actually blushes at the sound of that, and ducks her head to retrieve a menu. She's not sure how to feel about Quinn using _those_ specific words against her, when she'd been in a daze all day. Still, she can't believe she actually _said_ them to the Head Cheerleader when she'd come by their desks just before English to confirm her plans to meet up with Kurt. "What do you feel like? Something to drink? Eat? Both?" she asks, beginning their established ritual.

Quinn hums in thought, her head tilting slightly to the side. "Something to drink," she finally says.

Rachel turns the pages of the menu until she gets to the list of drinks. "Okay… hot or cold?"

As she's been known to do, Quinn doesn't even look down at the menu. She just keeps her gaze locked on Rachel's face, her features soft and open. "Cold."

Rachel shifts her attention to a redacted list of drinks. "Let me guess…"

"Surprise me."

Rachel's smile spreads across her face. "Coming right up."

At the sound of that, Quinn practically bounces to her usual table, and Rachel can only watch with a fond expression on her face. She's just about to get started on Quinn's drink when her phone buzzes on the counter in front of her, and her smile spreads that bit wider at the sight of the name. She's managed to get a hold of herself and refocus her attention.

Quinn Fabray is _not_ going to distract her from Pretty Girl.

_Pretty Girl: I want to tell you a story._

**Little Star: Tell me.**

_Pretty Girl: Once upon a time, there lived a girl who was regarded as ugly to the world. She was mousy, chubby, with frizzy brown hair and thick glasses, and everyone used to pick on her._

**Little Star: Poor kid.**

_Pretty Girl: She considered herself to by the ugly duckling in her family of beautiful swans and it really got her down in the worst way._

_Pretty Girl: One day, after she failed to come top of her class, her father told her he was disappointed in her, and she cried herself to sleep, vowing that she never again wanted to feel that way. So, she made a very important decision and used the gap between middle and high school to reinvent herself; to be somebody NEW. She changed her appearance and attitude in an attempt to fit in better and be liked and respected by her peers. But, somewhere along the way, she lost sight of herself and she didn't know how to be that sweet, naive little duckling anymore._

_Pretty Girl: Years went by and, as hard as she tried, the person she forced herself to be took form until it was set in stone. She started to hate who she'd become, even as her family finally started to recognise her. It took its toll._

_Pretty Girl: Then the girl met a shining star, bright and true, and the star turned her entire world upside down and right way up. The star made it okay to allow the duckling to shine bright, and she gave the girl the courage to be a better person and stop worrying about being the disappointment her father expects her to be._

_Pretty Girl: The end._

Rachel sucks in a breath, trying to figure out exactly what Pretty Girl is trying to tell her. There's a part of her that's convinced this isn't actually the end of the story. She's under no illusion that there are things Pretty Girl doesn't tell her, and she's convinced quite a bit of it is linked to whatever she's trying to tell her with this little story. Rachel is patient, and she's willing to wait for Pretty Girl to be comfortable enough to share whatever she holds dear to her.

**Little Star: Hey, PG?**

_Pretty Girl: I'm here._

**Little Star: The story doesn't end there, okay? You and me, we're just getting started.**

_Pretty Girl: You and me._

**Little Star: You and me.**

"Hey, Berry?"

Rachel's head snaps up, her eyes settling on Quinn's slightly flushed face. "Everything all right?"

"Are you planning on joining me or what?"

She flushes instantly, realising she's been caught in her Pretty Girl world. "I'll be right there," she says. "Just have to finish up with your drink."

Quinn nods slowly, shooting her a genuine smile, before turning her attention to her books. Admittedly, to Rachel, having Quinn's full attention is a little overwhelming. Before, whenever she was on the blonde's radar, it was because she was encroaching on Finn, and Quinn _reacted_. Now, though, it's very different. Now, Quinn is looking at her and actually _seeing_ her.

It's terrifying.

And exciting.

It's everything _and_ nothing.

There's a part of her that acknowledges that feeling anything remotely positive towards Quinn Fabray is always going to result in her getting hurt. It's an inevitability, but she's unsure how to _stop_ it. She reasons Quinn would make a good friend. She's kind and attentive, far more receptive to conversation with her than Rachel first imagined, _and_ her fathers like her. That should clinch it, but there's something else; something more.

Rachel thinks it's in her eyes.

There's so much there: secrets and truths, passion and guilt, weariness and concern, regret and eagerness, and pain.

It's _a lot_ , and Rachel can't shake the feeling that she's the only one who can see it.

* * *

Kurt raises his eyebrows in question when he arrives at Juniper's to find Quinn and Rachel sitting beside each other instead of opposite. Rachel spots him first and blushes despite her eye-roll at his blatant reaction to their positions.

"It's easier to work this way," she murmurs to him when she gets up.

"I know," he says coyly; "that's why _I_ didn't say anything."

Rachel shakes her head. Really, why is she still friends with him? "Do you want anything?" she asks as she heads back to the front counter.

"Another 'I'm sorry' cookie."

Rachel shoots a heated glare at him because she failed to inform him she baked that batch of cookies for the girl sitting right beside him.

Kurt visibly recoils. "Or not."

Rachel's eyes drop down to Quinn, wondering what she'll think of the interaction, but the blonde is looking at her phone. She's both relieved and disappointed by that, which is a feeling that falls away the moment her phone buzzes in her pocket. "I'll get you a water, particularly after that travesty you had for lunch," she calls over her shoulder as she disappears into the kitchen for some privacy.

_Pretty Girl: I've been working my brain so much that I think it now has a six pack._

Rachel breaks into a fit of giggles that she quickly suppresses. She doesn't want to draw anyone's attention towards the sound because she has no idea what she would say to explain herself. She's immensely relieved Marty is currently holed up in the kitchen's little office.

**Little Star: Do YOU have a six pack?**

Rachel waits as long as she can for a reply but nothing comes, and she goes back out. She retrieves Kurt's water, and then goes back to the table where she slides in opposite Quinn and Kurt. They both smile at her before returning their attention to their project. Her own project with Santana has hit a brick - no, titanium - wall, and the Latina just isn't interested in meeting up. So, Rachel has been using Google Docs to communicate and work on their shared proposed document. Sometimes, when she checks back, she'll see that Santana has 'edited' something, but Rachel can never visibly find it.

Anyway.

The only way Rachel can stay calm about the entire situation is by remembering that the work _will_ eventually get done. It will. Somehow, some way, she and Santana are going to deliver a complete project. It's all she has to go on at the moment to stop herself from devolving into a full-blown panic. She works on it whenever she has time, which isn't a lot. On top of all her other classes, her job, Glee rehearsals and her fathers; she feels as if she's spreading herself quite thin.

Still, she just knows that Pretty Girl will trump everything. She usually does. It's actually rather dangerous to think that way but she can't help it. It's sobering and terrifying. This charming, faceless person has set her entire life on fire, and she's just hoping that there isn't destruction left in Pretty Girl's wake because Rachel has fallen and fallen _hard_.

She usually does. It's part of her personality to give herself wholeheartedly to relationships and performances. She tends to lose herself in emotions and feelings, and this thing she's doing with Pretty Girl is no different. Rachel is risking devastating heartbreak the longer this goes on.

"Shit."

Rachel's head snaps up at the sound of Quinn's uncharacteristic cursing.

"Is that the time?" she practically shrieks as she scrambles to pack her things away. "Shit shit shit. I'm so late."

Kurt quickly gets out of her way, rising to his feet before she elbows him in her haste.

"I'm sorry to run out on you like this, Kurt," Quinn says, looking torn as she dumps her things in her bag. "My parents are hosting some dinner tonight and I was supposed to be home five minutes ago. They're going to kill me. What am I - _urgh_."

Kurt looks like he wants to question her on what the big deal is about _five minutes_ but Quinn's blatant change in posture throws both him and Rachel off course. Eventually, Quinn stops with her frantic movements, her back straightens and her face slides into what Rachel now is absolutely positive is a mask. It sends a shiver down her spine just watching the transformation, and her heart stutters from heartache and a touch of attraction.

Quinn shouldn't have to _hide_ her true self and, damn, is that cold indifference incredibly _hot_.

"I'll text you later," Quinn says to Kurt, her voice cool and detached. She's nothing like the Quinn they just spent the late afternoon with, and it's almost scary. "Thanks for the drink, Berry," she says, dropping a few notes on the table. "It's been my favourite thus far."

And then she's gone.

As soon as the door clicks shut, Kurt - who's still standing in bemused shock - looks to Rachel first. "What was _that_?"

Rachel blinks, a niggling feeling sitting at the back of her brain. She's aware she's missing something significant but her mind just won't allow her to make the desired connection. Whatever it is. "I have no idea," she says, watching as Kurt sits once more. "I have absolutely no idea."

There's a part of her that's convinced that, maybe, she actually _does_.

* * *

_Pretty Girl: Distract me._

Rachel chuckles to herself as she's entering her bedroom. She's just finished having dinner with her fathers and she wants nothing more than to have a nice, long bath, crawl into bed and go to sleep. She needs to get her seven to eight hours if she wants to keep functioning relatively normally. It's just, she can't help that Quinn's hasty departure is sitting on her brain in a terrible way. She's actually rather unsettled by what she witnessed of the blonde tonight.

Rachel's not sure she _can_ bring it up to Quinn because they aren't _those_ types of friends, but she can't help but worry about the numerous people Quinn Fabray forces herself to be. She wonders if anyone actually knows the _real_ girl behind the perfected mask she portrays. Rachel finds that she wants to be one of them.

**Little Star: From what am I distracting you?**

_Pretty Girl: Idiotic people. So, just, people in general._

**Little Star: Are you in a mood?**

_Pretty Girl: I think you should ask me about my abs again._

Rachel sucks in a breath, caught off guard. This girl really is going to be the death of her, and she's probably going to enjoy every second of it.

**Little Star: So... you DO have abs?**

_Pretty Girl: Oh yes. I work very hard to maintain my physique._

**Little Star: Does that mean you're athletic?**

_Pretty Girl: Are you ACTUALLY wondering if I'm flexible?_

_Pretty Girl: Because I am. Very. Hence the name SkySPLITS_.

Rachel's breath gets stuck in her throat and it's the first time she realises she's actually stopped walking, frozen on the carpet of her bedroom with her phone in her hand and her heart thundering in her chest. This girl really _is_ dangerous, and it's obvious she doesn't even know the power she possesses. Over Rachel. Just, in general.

Rachel can't be certain if what they're doing counts as 'sexting.' She's never done it before. Not with Finn - though he tried - and not with anyone else. She doesn't even know what Pretty Girl _looks_ like, and she's starting to get uncomfortable with the moments her brain tries to give her secret girl a mop of blonde hair and hazel eyes.

No.

Just, no.

Rachel finally settles down to work on some more of her homework, and the two of them trade texts as the evening drags on, but Pretty Girl's mood doesn't get any better. There's something wrong. Rachel can feel it, even if Pretty Girl won't tell her so. There's their usual banter, but Pretty Girl's is stilted, almost forced. Clearly, Rachel's distraction isn't working and, as much as she appreciates that Pretty Girl is trying, it's not working.

Never one to leave things be, Rachel can't resist drawing attention to it.

**Little Star: Is something happening tonight? Specifically?**

_Pretty Girl: Yes._

_Pretty Girl: I just don't like being paraded around, as if my accomplishments aren't my own. The good I do belongs to my parents, and all the bad belongs to me. How is any of that fair?_

**Little Star: It's not, baby.**

Rachel knows that Pretty Girl doesn't have a good relationship with her parents, and this is even before they know she's gay. It's difficult for Rachel to understand given her own parental situation. Even though she hasn't told her parents there's a girl in her life, she always felt safe telling them that truth about her.

Pretty Girl doesn't have the same luxury of having her parents merely understand and accept her sexual orientation. She's convinced her parents will kick her out or disown her, which breaks Rachel's heart. She wants to be the optimistic one but she can't know for sure. Pretty Girl would probably know better than she would, but she's still going to hold onto that hope for now.

**Little Star: I'm sorry this is happening to you. Tonight of all nights.**

_Pretty Girl: Tell you what I have learned tonight..._

**Little Star: What?**

_Pretty Girl: There are other forms of torture that are far worse than the self-inflicted kind._

Rachel stares at the words with a slight frown on her face, rereading the text a few times. What is Pretty Girl trying to tell her? Is she supposed to be reading between the lines? Gosh, so much gets lost in translation with this method of communication.

**Little Star: PG?**

She pauses. Thinking. Waiting. Wondering.

No?

**Little Star: Baby, have you hurt yourself before?**

Rachel has to wait the longest time for a reply... that doesn't even come. Her silence is an answer enough.

**Little Star: Baby, do you still hurt yourself?**

Still no response to the questions, but she does get an entirely different message. Which, in hindsight, is yet another affirmative, and it breaks her heart. It's obvious Pretty Girl doesn't want to discuss it, so Rachel is willing to let it go.

For now, at least. She suspects she and Pretty Girl are going to be talking about this for days and months and... years to come.

_Pretty Girl: Big things have always been expected of me, and I'm determined not to fail. Or, worse, disappoint. I have to succeed, Little Star. I have to get the recognition, so I can make my parents proud. I have to do something to soften the horror of my sexual orientation._

Rachel closes her eyes, feeling tears pool in her eyes. Just the idea that Pretty Girl refers to her sexuality as a 'horror' is overwhelming and disappointing and disheartening. Rachel realises Pretty Girl has obviously struggled with her own acceptance, and it's probably a feat in itself that she's managed to accomplish that much.

**Little Star: Baby, it really hurts to know you have to worry about these things. I wish there was something I could do to make it better for you.**

_Pretty Girl: But you do. You do. Every day. EVERY DAY._

Rachel is rather certain she's in love. It's what this has to be. There's no other way to describe it. It can't possibly be anything else. She doesn't want it to be anything else. This thing she feels is warm and in such contrast to the unmistakable fear she feels at the idea of Pretty Girl possibly... hating herself for her own sexuality.

Or, even hating _her_.

**Little Star: I just wish there was more I could do.**

_Pretty Girl: You do all you can, baby, and I appreciate all of it. I appreciate all you do. I appreciate YOU._

_Pretty Girl: This part is up to me. We both know that._

**Little Star: Doesn't mean I have to like it.**

_Pretty Girl: As long as you like ME._

**Little Star: I do. So so much.**

**Little Star: Which is why I don't like it when you're feeling down.**

_Pretty Girl: I'm not feeling down, per se. Not anymore, at least. The parading has ceased and I've come up to hide in my bedroom with the intention of remaining unseen until the morning._

**Little Star: So,** **you're feeling better then?**

_Pretty Girl: I wouldn't say that either._

Rachel is in the middle of yet another question when she receives a reply that brings a frown to her face. This has been a truly emotional day for her Pretty Girl, and Rachel is just going along for the ride.

_Pretty Girl: Truthfully, right now, I think I'm feeling conflicted about something._

**Little Star: What is it, baby?**

_Pretty Girl: I'm not really sure how to tell you because I'm convinced it's going to change things._

**Little Star: Between us?**

_Pretty Girl: Yes._

**Little Star: Tell me anyway.**

* * *

_Pretty Girl: Go online._

**Little Star: Hah! Beat you to it!**

* * *

**GoldStarRBB** : Pretty Girl?

**SkySplits94** : Hello, you!

**GoldStarRBB** : How was your day?

**SkySplits94** : Have you ever been so sure of one thing and then something completely unexpected happens, and you're suddenly not so sure of it anymore?

**GoldStarRBB** : All the time. On a daily basis, actually. What's this all about?

**SkySplits94** : Well.

**SkySplits94** : So, I have something to tell you.

**GoldStarRBB** : Okay…? Is it bad?

**SkySplits94** : Not bad, no, but significant.

**GoldStarRBB** : So, I'm not going to like it?

**SkySplits94** : Probably not.

**GoldStarRBB** : Okay. I'm sitting down.

**GoldStarRBB** : Go ahead.

**SkySplits94** : I got into Yale.

**GoldStarRBB** : Pretty Girl, that's fantastic!

**SkySplits94** : It is?

**GoldStarRBB** : Of course it is! Congratulations. I'm so proud of you.

**SkySplits94** : But.

**GoldStarRBB** : But what?

**SkySplits94** : But Yale isn't in New York, Little Star.

**GoldStarRBB** : I know.

**SkySplits94** : Is that okay?

**GoldStarRBB** : Pretty Girl, it's YALE! It's amazing.

**SkySplits94** : But… we have plans, don't we? For New York.

**GoldStarRBB** : Have you heard anything back from New York?

**SkySplits94** : Well, no.

**GoldStarRBB** : But Yale WANTS you. I don't want you to be anything but excited about this accomplishment, okay?

**SkySplits94** : Doesn't it worry you?

**GoldStarRBB** : I know you've been waiting for the Yale letter, PG. I know it's where you've really wanted to go, even if you've been considering schools in New York for the scholarship offers.

**SkySplits94** : What about us?

**GoldStarRBB** : We'll make it work. Nothing about us has been conventional thus far; why would we bother to start now?

**SkySplits94** : If I get into Columbia, I'm coming to New York. I want to be as close to you as possible.

**GoldStarRBB** : As wonderful as that all sounds, baby, it's a decision you have to make for yourself.

**SkySplits94** : It will be. Just, it will be about you too.

**GoldStarRBB** : Pretty Girl.

**SkySplits94** : I want to be with you. I won't skirt around it, even though it actually terrifies me. I know we don't really know each other in the physical sense, but I can't imagine wanting to be with anyone else. Right now and in the future.

**GoldStarRBB** : Oh, Pretty Girl. You're beautiful. You're wonderful.

**GoldStarRBB** : Just so you know, I want to be with you too.

**SkySplits94** : That's good to hear.

**GoldStarRBB** : It is good to hear, isn't it?

**SkySplits94** : I can't wait to say the words to you.

**GoldStarRBB** : I can't wait to hear them.

**SkySplits94** : You should know that I'm smiling like a complete and utter fool right now, alone in my room with my iPod playing Amber Run.

**GoldStarRBB** : Amber Run?

**SkySplits94** : Oh my goodness! You haven't lived!

**SkySplits94** : Do yourself (and me) a favour and look them up. They have some brilliant songs.

**GoldStarRBB** : I promise I'll do just that as soon as we sign off.

**SkySplits94** : Pretty Girl has signed off.

**GoldStarRBB** : Haha, you're truly very special.

**SkySplits94** : I know.

**GoldStarRBB** : Don't let it go to your head now.

**SkySplits94** : I won't.

**SkySplits94** : Goodnight, my little star Xx

**GoldStarRBB** : Goodnight, my pretty girl :*


	6. VI, VII

**VI**

"Let's get this over with."

Rachel's heart skips a beat at Santana's tone, but she shifts her books to the side to empty up the space at the table beside her. "I'm glad you decided to join me," she says, trying to keep her fear and disappointment out of her voice when she realises Quinn isn't with Santana.

Well, neither is Brittany.

Santana seems to tell that Rachel is curious where the blondes are and she visibly smirks, sliding further down in her chair. "Worried I'm going to off you without our buffers?" she questions, cocking her head to the side.

Rachel _is_ worried about that, but it's something more. She can't shake the feeling that she was looking forward to seeing Quinn... for whatever reason. She just likes talking to her. She likes having her attention and knowing that she's actually listening. They're kind of friends now, but she's trying not to think about it too much because she's not really a _fan_ of what she's feeling.

" _Should_ I be worried?" Rachel asks, biting her bottom lip.

"No," she answers. "Britt made me promise not to hurt you."

Rachel nods slowly.

"Though, I said nothing about making it easy for you."

"Why would I expect anything else?" she mutters under her breath.

Santana narrows her eyes. "What's up with you, Midget?" she asks. "You seem... different."

Rachel does her best not to react, but her gaze does shift slightly. It's impossible for Santana to _tell_. It's not as if she's wearing some sign on her forehead that something has changed inside of her. Or, well, that she's finally woken up to it. "I think it's unfathomable to expect me not to change in the time since you three defected from Glee," she says flatly.

"It's not that," Santana says, oddly perceptive as she ignores Rachel's dig about the Unholy Trinity's brief stint in Glee. "I don't give a shit about _those_ changes. This is something _very_ specific."

Rachel shrugs, trying to play it off. "I don't know what you're expecting to hear, Santana."

"The truth."

"And, why would I give you that?"

"Why wouldn't you?"

Rachel actually sputters in disbelief. They're not friends. Why _would_ she? "Are you serious?" she asks.

"Deathly."

"Wow."

Santana levels her gaze on her. "Well...?"

Rachel shakes her head, still in disbelief. Does she honestly think Rachel's going to tell her _anything_? "Can we just get to work?" she says, resisting the urge to scoff at the audacity of Santana to even _think_ she would tell her anything personal.

"No," Santana says. "B and Q aren't here, so, as far as they know, I came and met you. That's all I said I was going to do, anyway."

"Santana, please."

The Latina shakes her head. "I have nails to file. What you do with your lunch hour is up to you."

"Are you being serious?"

"Do I look like I'm joking? Because, I don't 'joke,' Berry."

Rachel huffs in annoyance, unsure how she's supposed to proceed. This is definitely _not_ what she was expecting out of this meeting, but she's not willing to fight right now. She's a little exhausted from staying up late talking to Pretty Girl. She definitely didn't get her required number of hours of sleep.

"Where are Brittany and Quinn anyway?" Rachel asks, trying her best not to sound too interested.

Because she's not.

She's definitely not.

"Meeting with Coach," she answers distractedly, actually proceeding to file her nails. "Q _is_ busy, you know? She can't play babysitter forever."

"It's not _my_ fault she feels the need to," Rachel defends. " _You're_ the one who can't sit and focus for _one hour_ without threatening my life."

"I haven't yet done that."

"The hour is still young."

* * *

Rachel has a lot of patience. She's had to develop it to survive the way she has in _this_ high school, but Santana is _trying_ her abundance of patience. The few times they do meet up are physical torture and draws on all her restraint. Brittany is there more often than Quinn, given that Santana and Brittany are very rarely apart. If Rachel weren't so constantly irritated with the Latina, she would find it cute. But, alas, she _is_ constantly annoyed and it makes her irrational.

While Rachel struggles to reign in Santana, she also fights to reign in whatever she's starting to feel for Quinn Fabray. It's odd for Rachel in the sense that Quinn is now receptive to her offer of friendship, as if something _within_ Quinn has also changed since they first tried to bridge the gap between Head Cheerio and Social Pariah. It helps that there isn't a Finn-shaped obstacle between them, and Rachel is seeing Quinn clearly for what feels like the first time.

She's starting to like what she sees.

Rachel finds that she likes talking to Quinn. She's the furthest thing from a typical _blonde_ , and Rachel enjoys the depths of their conversations. In fact, Rachel would even go so far as to say Quinn has contributed more to her English project than Santana has. The Latina wasn't kidding when she said Quinn was well-versed in the history of humankind, as well as women and gay rights, and Quinn admits to her interest with a blush and a bashful smile.

It's adorable.

It's... a lot of things.

Rachel is definitely starting to pay a little closer attention, and she's constantly having to catch herself staring at Quinn's lips or her hands as she talks. She listens, of course, but it's easy to get lost whenever Quinn is talking animatedly about something or the other.

This _thing_ they have going on is a well-kept secret, existing mainly in Juniper's Cafe. Rachel might even think none of it was happening if it weren't for Kurt sitting _right there_ , conversing with them and watching their interactions with subdued interest. He has a... feeling, but he can't quite put a name to it.

And, as the month of April draws to a close and they have to hand in their project proposals for Mr Pope's approval, Kurt just knows that whatever their English teacher had planned for this project... well, he's going to get a hell of a lot more than that.

* * *

"I've had literally five seconds of sleep," Kurt complains as they settle into their seats for English.

Rachel covers her eyes with her hands, desperately trying to fight off an impending migraine. "Now, imagine getting no sleep _and_ having to deal with a constantly-bitching Santana Lopez."

Kurt huffs. "At least it's done."

"For now," she grumbles. "As soon as we get feedback, we're going to have to get right back into the thick of it."

Kurt shakes his head. "Not with Quinn," he says. "She's already got the final document going. The literature's already been selected and she's been researching like a mad woman."

Rachel can't resist the urge to turn her head to look at said blonde, and she's amused by the somewhat dazed look on her face. She looks... exhausted. It's kind of cute, and Rachel smiles automatically. Which grows the moment Quinn meets her gaze and returns her smile. It's a moment, insignificant and small, but there's _something_ there. Rachel knows she's not imagining it. It may be one-sided, but it exists, and Rachel can't quite ignore it anymore.

Quinn looks away first, her hand reaching for her phone.

Rachel turns to face forward once more, her heart beating a little faster.

Kurt nudges her with his shoulder. "Quinn's wondering if you want a painkiller," he says, pointing to his own phone. "You _look_ like shit, apparently."

Rachel gasps. "She did _not_ say that."

Kurt chuckles. "Okay... _she_ didn't, but that doesn't mean it's not true."

"Why are we friends again?"

He rolls his eyes. "Is that a yes?"

"Sure," she replies, absently thinking that she should probably get Quinn's phone number. They _are_ friends, aren't they? Friends have friends' numbers and all that.

_No_ , she thinks. Having any extra _access_ to Quinn definitely isn't a good idea.

Rachel's own phone buzzes in her lap and she immediately looks at it, a small smile playing on her lips at the words on her screen.

_Pretty Girl: I think I'm dying. I'm definitely dying. WHY are our teachers trying to kill us? It's a conspiracy; I know it is._

Rachel giggles to herself, shaking her head as she does. This is what she wants. Pretty Girl and all she represents. It's her and only her.

But.

When Quinn rises to her feet to deliver the painkillers to her and Kurt, a knowing smirk on her pretty face; Rachel has to curb the growing part of her that's starting not to care whether the idea of Quinn is a good one or not.

* * *

"Hello, you."

If Rachel is surprised to see Quinn in Juniper's, she shows it. "Hey," she says, pushing herself off the counter. "What are you doing here?"

Quinn frowns in confusion. "What?"

"Didn't we hand in our proposals yesterday?" she asks. "I thought you would take the week off or something?"

Quinn grins at her as she casually strolls further into the cafe, her hair damp and her eyes bright. Rachel can't help marvelling at how _young_ Quinn looks when she's like this. "Well, I _am_ taking the week off from working on the English project, but I kind of like working here," she says.

"Oh?"

"The drinks are good," she says, sliding onto a stool and meeting Rachel's gaze. "The company's not so bad, either."

Rachel's cheeks bloom red and she ducks her head to hide it. It takes her a moment to recover, but she eventually manages it. "So, is that a no to California then?" she asks, gesturing towards the grey Harvard sweatshirt Quinn is wearing.

"Oh, it's actually my sister's," Quinn says, resting her clasped hands on the countertop. "She graduated Harvard Law last year, and I bummed it off her when we visited her in Boston." She waits a beat. "But, yeah, it's a no to California... though, I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention that to Santana."

Rachel nods slowly, that same niggling feeling yapping at the back of her mind. She doesn't know what it is, but it's right there, just waiting for her figure it out.

"It's quiet today," Quinn observes, looking around the cafe and noting that it's absolutely empty.

"It's always quiet at this time," Rachel says with a slight shrug. "It's usually just me."

"I think it's why I like it."

Rachel blinks once, twice, as she tries to decipher what _that_ means while simultaneously trying to slow her racing heart. "So, yes to Harvard?"

Quinn clears her throat. "I'm probably _not_ headed to Harvard, no," she says.

"It's difficult to get in," Rachel agrees.

Quinn arches an eyebrow. "I didn't say I didn't get in," she says.

"Oh?"

She shakes her head. "I also didn't say I did."

"I think you're starting to give me a headache."

Quinn laughs lightly, running a hand through her damp hair. "Not that you asked, but I actually did get into Harvard," she confesses, almost timid about it. "But I'm not sure it's where I want to go."

Rachel just nods, indicating that she's listening. She's practically hanging off every word Quinn is saying, and it's getting dangerous. Who is she kidding? It's _always_ been dangerous.

"I've been thinking about Columbia," Quinn tells her, leaning back slightly. "Or Yale."

Rachel immediately thinks about Pretty Girl, and feels an odd sense of loss settle over her. She's still not sure how the two of them are supposed to _build_ a relationship when they won't even be living in the same city. "You're just throwing out Ivy League schools there, Quinn," she says, a teasing lilt to her tone.

Quinn flushes instantly, ducking her head slightly. "Sorry," she says softly. "It's all a little surreal, if I'm being honest. I still can't believe any of it."

"It's a wonderful achievement," Rachel says. "Believe it."

Quinn meets her gaze once more. "Do you ever feel as if everything is just going so fast, and all you want is for it to slow down? Just so you can catch your breath?"

Rachel leans forward, resting her elbows on the countertop. "All the time. Every single day."

"I mean, all of this is wonderful and all... we're growing up and going places, but it's all just going in fast forward, and I just want to hit pause so I can breathe. Or, at least catch up on some sleep."

Rachel giggles softly. "I know the feeling," she says. "I do have a set bedtime though." She immediately thinks about Pretty Girl, who's _usually_ the one to end their short online sessions, stating it's time to go to bed, when they don't get caught up in endless conversation. Rachel's worked her entire life around it now, going to sleep just after.

"So, you get enough sleep?" Quinn asks.

"On a normal night, I can get six to seven hours," she says. "Don't you?"

"It's more like four to five," she says; "and it's not for lack of trying. I think I'm an insomniac. Or, I'm just restless. Both."

"That's a haughty combination, Quinn."

"You're telling me," she says, shrugging. "I doubt this project is going to help with my sleeping patterns."

"I think I spelt for five hundred hours when we handed in," she tells her, agreeing.

"I thought we had so much time, but the weeks are just flying by." Quinn shakes her head, her eyes drifting to the side for a moment. "I suppose it's just another reason I want time to slow down."

"At least you and Kurt seem to be on the ball with this next part," she grumbles.

Quinn looks on, sympathetic. "Is Santana still giving you the run around?"

"Once we're working, she's fine," she says. "But, actually getting her to agree to a time to sit down with me and actually _do_ the work is like trying to milk a bison."

Quinn lets out an unexpected laugh, even snorting for her troubles. Rachel can't help thinking that even her snort is cute. It's practically illegal. How is it a human being like Quinn Fabray can even exist? Why was she blessed with all the good genes? "Aren't you vegan?" she asks, unable to stop her laughter.

"Exactly," Rachel says, laughing with her. "It's double the effort on my part."

"Do you want me to talk to her?" Quinn asks, looking completely serious.

Rachel blinks slowly. "You would do that for me?"

Quinn gives her a skeptical look. "I would do that," she says carefully. "But not for you, Berry."

Rachel presses her lips together. "Right. Of course."

"Oh, don't look so put out," Quinn says, smiling slightly. "Santana would never go for it if I even mentioned you. It has to be about her and we both know it."

Rachel _does_ know that, but there's a certain edge to Quinn's voice that makes the entire situation feel a bit charged. Quinn is saying she _would_ do it for Rachel, but Santana can never know. For whatever reason, that means something, even though she can't be sure what. It means something because they're from two entirely separate worlds, in school hierarchy, social status, wealth and beauty.

Without saying it out loud, Quinn is offering to bridge a gap that has always existed.

Only, nobody can know.

What has Mr Pope _done_ to them?

"Thank you, Quinn," she says. "I would really appreciate that."

"Don't mention it."

Rachel smiles shyly, feeling her heart rate rise slightly. "So, what can I get for you?"

It always finishes the same way.

_Surprise me_.

The rush of excitement she feels is... dangerous, because she's losing control. She's... enjoying it a little too much, and it's probably the _worst_ thing she can do... to herself, to Quinn _and_ to Pretty Girl.

Because.

Well.

Rachel would go so far as to call it… typical. That sounds about right to her. It's _typical_. High school, that is. There are all the usual cliques: the jocks, the geeks (also see Gleeks), the loners, the Prom Queens, and the kids who are a little too _friendly_ (also known as as sluts to anyone not paying attention).

Even then, those factions are divided even further, into the cool and the not so cool, into the bullied and the bullies, and then into the kids who aren't even interesting enough to bother even glancing towards: the Invisibles.

It's typical.

Everything about it.

Except, maybe, Quinn Fabray.

To Rachel, Quinn initially represents everything she'll never be. She's Quinn Fabray, William McKinley's Queen Bee, Head Cheerleader and girl every guy wants to sleep with and every girl wants to be or befriend.

Until she actually takes the time to get to know her, Rachel would have to admit that she sees her the exact same way. Sometimes, she hates herself for it, but when Quinn casually mentions that Rachel probably saw exactly what she wanted her to see, Rachel _gets it_.

Now, she knows better.

Rachel is learning all about this Quinn Fabray, getting the opportunity to see the person she is beneath _all of it_ , and it's quite the feat. Even so, the more she learns, to Rachel, Quinn still represents an anomaly wrapped in an enigma covered by a carefully constructed facade. What she's learned during their short conversations intrigues her, surprises her and continues to confuse her.

Quinn Fabray is _nothing_ like she imagined, and, now that she's actually speaking to Quinn the way the girl deserves to be spoken to, that initial _physical_ attraction she's been fighting is turning into _something else_.

It's turning into a… crush.

A proper, full-blown, completely-unwanted and dangerous _crush_.

The second that word pops into her head, Rachel panics. She can _not_ have a crush on _Quinn Fabray_. There's no way. There is absolutely no way. No. Just, _no_. It's impossible.

All she's done is _talk_ to Quinn.

In the great scheme of things, Quinn doesn't really tell Rachel all that much but she's still happy to listen anyway. She supposes it's probably something about the sound of her voice, or just the way she says words. The way they roll out of her mouth - not just fall - as if everything she says holds within it more meaning. It's as if she's purposefully placing them in the space between them.

Rachel shakes her head. That's stupid. They're just words. She's just a girl who says words. But, even then, Rachel understands that whatever is happening with her when it comes to Quinn is _something_.

No.

It's nothing.

It _can't_ be anything, for _so many_ reasons.

One of which is that Quinn Fabray is _definitely_ not interested in girls.

And, well, there's Pretty Girl.

* * *

**SkySplits94** : Hello, you!

**GoldStarRBB** : Hi! How was your day?

**SkySplits94** : It was actually pretty good, thank you. How was yours?

**GoldStarRBB** : Umm.

**SkySplits94** : Little Star?

**GoldStarRBB** : We're… together, right?

**SkySplits94** : As much as we can be, yes. Is something wrong?

**GoldStarRBB** : So, you don't like anyone else?

**SkySplits94** : No.

**GoldStarRBB** : No crushes? No attraction to anyone else?

**SkySplits94** : No, and no. LS, what's going on? Do you like someone else?

**GoldStarRBB** : NO!

**GoldStarRBB** : Okay, just, hear me out: it's not that I actually like them. It's just that I can't help noticing them.

**SkySplits94** : Them?

**GoldStarRBB** : A girl in my English class.

**SkySplits94** : I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say to that. What exactly are you telling me right now?

**SkySplits94** : God, do you not want to be with me anymore?

**GoldStarRBB** : Pretty Girl, no. That's not what I'm saying at all. I'm just a little confused, because this is all still really new to me. Girls, I mean. And, if I'm being entirely honest, this girl kind of reminds me of you, in some very strange, impossible way.

**SkySplits94** : Are you sure she's not me?

**GoldStarRBB** : Absolutely positive. It's literally the most impossible thing in the world.

**SkySplits94** : I'm still unsure what I'm supposed to say. If you're asking what I feel about the idea of your being attracted to someone else, I can't be sure I particularly like it. But, I mean, we may be in a relationship but I have no claim to you. We haven't even met, and I won't hold you back if you -

**SkySplits94** : God. I don't want you to like anyone else.

**GoldStarRBB** : I don't. I LIKE only you. I want to be with YOU.

**SkySplits94** : Then, why would you tell me any of this?

**GoldStarRBB** : Because we don't lie to each other. I want you to know everything because honest relationships are the only type of relationships I want. Would you rather I not have told you?

**SkySplits94** : I don't know.

**GoldStarRBB** : It's just a little crush, Pretty Girl. At the moment, she's got my eyes, but you've got my heart.

**SkySplits94** : If that's supposed to make me feel better, it's not working.

**SkySplits94** : Is this not enough for you? I mean, is this because I'm hesitant to meet you? Is this some way to force my hand?

**GoldStarRBB** : Pretty Girl. STOP. This is none of those things. Believe me. I would never force you to do something you don't want to, as much as I talk a good game.

**GoldStarRBB** : You are the most important person in my life right now.

**GoldStarRBB** : Pretty Girl?

**GoldStarRBB** : Baby?

**SkySplits94** : I'm here. I'm just thinking.

**GoldStarRBB** : Okay. Are we okay?

**SkySplits94** : I don't know. I've never been in a situation like this before, and I don't know what I'm supposed to say or do.

**GoldStarRBB** : I'm sorry.

**SkySplits94** : Please don't be. I know you can't help it.

**SkySplits94** : It's okay.

**SkySplits94** : I think I'm going to head to bed now, just to think things over.

**GoldStarRBB** : I'm sorry.

**SkySplits94** : It's okay.

**SkySplits94** : It really is. I may have discussed it a little bit with my best friend. She claims it's normal to be attracted to other people, but she's notorious for getting with anything and everything that has legs.

**SkySplits94** : I just don't know.

**SkySplits94** : Just, it's okay.

**GoldStarRBB** : I'm still sorry.

**SkySplits94** : Goodnight, my little star Xx

**GoldStarRBB** : Goodnight, my pretty girl :*

* * *

.

* * *

**VII**

"So, I may or may not have done something _really_ stupid."

Kurt tenses, despite himself. The last time he heard Rachel say anything like that, he had to deal with a dejected stepbrother and a heartbroken best friend. He's pretty certain she hasn't broken up with anyone during a sexuality crisis, so his shoulders relax infinitesimally.

At his silence, Rachel just continues. "Okay, so, it may be more than one thing," she says.

"What did you do?"

She scrubs her face with her hands. "Well, firstly, I managed to develop a... crush," she says.

"Okay," he says, slightly confused. "I don't see how that's a bad thing."

"On a girl," she says.

"Okay," he says again, frowning slightly. "I still don't see what's so - "

"Whose name is Quinn Fabray," she finishes, cutting him off.

"Oh."

Rachel buries her face in her hands. "That isn't even the worst part."

His eyebrows rise. "There's... more?"

"I told Pretty Girl about her."

Kurt gasps. He _actually_ gasps. "Why on earth would you do _that_?"

Rachel presses her lips together, suddenly irritated with _everyone_. Why _wouldn't_ she tell Pretty Girl? She hopes that Pretty Girl would also tell her if she found anyone else remotely attractive. This is an important right of passage in their relationship, really. What good would it have done to deceive the girl she's sure she's already in love with?

Kurt shakes his head. "Rachel, I know this whole relationship thing is new to you, and it's probably even weirder because of the circumstances behind it, but there are things you _don't_ do when feelings and emotions can get lost in translation," he says. "Let's just look at it from Pretty Girl's point of view, okay? You're a closeted gay girl who's found this _other_ girl she's allowed herself to open up to, thinking she's found this safe place... and then this girl starts talking about _another girl_. How would that make _you_ feel?"

Of course, Rachel has given this a lot of thought, but this is the first time it's been presented in such a light, and she automatically feels like the worst person on the planet. "I never meant - "

"I know, Sweetie," he says, patting her hand in sympathy. "I know you didn't mean anything by it, but she's probably already struggling enough without having to face off against the single most desirable girl in school."

Before Rachel can respond, a shadow falls over their desk, and they both look up to spy Quinn standing over them, a pinched expression on her face. It's not directed at either of them but it's obvious to them both that something is troubling their surprising new friend.

"Hey," Quinn says, shaking her head and slipping on a mask.

"Hi, Quinn," Rachel says as Kurt says, "Good morning, Quinn."

The blonde smiles tightly. "I'm not going to be able to make it to Juniper's today," she says to them both, even though the words _should_ be directed at Kurt. "Coach has Britt and I staying late to work on a few changes to choreography for Nationals, and I doubt I'll get out in time to get anything done before your shift starts."

"Oh, okay," Kurt says, stunned by his own disappointment. They've fallen into a neat little routine, the three of them, and it's odd to feel _anything_ about this sudden change.

"I'll make it up to you," Quinn says, her eyes darting to the front where Mr Pope is trying to get everyone to settle. She flashes the quicker, most brilliant smile at them. "I think I've found the _perfect_ book."

Kurt manages a smile as Quinn spins and heads to her own desk in the back. He feels oddly unsettled as he looks at Rachel, who looks equally pensive. "Okay," he says; "I can see _why_ you would have a crush on her. I'm literally the gayest kid I know, and even I'm a little enamoured."

Rachel sighs heavily.

"You still shouldn't have told your girlfriend, though."

The fact that Kurt referred to Pretty Girl as her girlfriend is both exhilarating and frightening. The two of them haven't discussed those kinds of labels, given that they've never actually met. Well, Rachel doesn't think they've ever met. She likes to think she would _know_ if she came face to face with the girl who's stamped her written words all over her beating heart.

"What do I do to fix this?" she asks him, blinking slowly.

"Oh, Sweetie," he says sympathetically; "I'm the wrong person to ask."

* * *

**Little Star: Will you please go online?**

* * *

**GoldStarRBB** : Are you talking to me?

**SkySplits94** : Of course.

**GoldStarRBB** : Hi.

**SkySplits94** : Hey.

**GoldStarRBB** : I'm sorry.

**SkySplits94** : I really wish you'd stop apologising.

**GoldStarRBB** : I had a good, long talk about this whole thing with my best friend today. He, uh, he definitely cleared things up for me. It was a much-needed lecture for me, and I feel much clearer about this entire thing.

**GoldStarRBB** : I just want you to know it's you. It's always been you and it's always going to be. Nothing about you is a passing fancy. It has to be the real thing because I doubt I would ever feel so much for a person I've never even seen. Who, incidentally, is a girl. I'm willing to go through all of this to be with you. I want nothing more and nothing less, PG. Just, you.

**SkySplits94** : I definitely wasn't expecting a profound declaration.

**GoldStarRBB** : What were you expecting?

**SkySplits94** : I'm not sure.

**GoldStarRBB** : What can I do to fix this? How do I prove to you that I'm yours?

**SkySplits94** : Can you dance?

**GoldStarRBB** : Uh...? I think most people CAN dance, though it remains to be seen if they're any good at it. Still, yes, I can dance.

**SkySplits94** : Well?

**GoldStarRBB** : I'm not terrible. Why do you ask?

**SkySplits94** : There's a dance recital happening at Lorna's Dance Studio this weekend. Have you heard of it?

**GoldStarRBB** : I think so. It's the one on Baker Street, right?

**SkySplits94** : That's the one. I used to go there when I was younger. I still help out and volunteer with the little kids. I was supposed to be doing that this weekend but something came up and I'm actually going out of town. Would you be willing to take my place?

**GoldStarRBB** : Yes.

**SkySplits94** : I haven't even told you what you would need to do.

**GoldStarRBB** : It doesn't matter. I'm doing it, even if I have to sew costumes until my fingers bleed or if I have to listen to the same music on repeat for the entire weekend.

**SkySplits94** : You would really do that for me?

**GoldStarRBB** : I really like you.

**GoldStarRBB** : Like crazy amounts, okay?

**GoldStarRBB** : And I know I may or may not have given you a few reasons to doubt that, but I do, PG. I like you in an insane, is-this-really-happening way, and I can only hope you believe me. Because, right now, all I have are my words, and you're giving me the opportunity to show you with my actions.

**SkySplits94** : I reckon all you need are words.

**GoldStarRBB** : You're blushing, aren't you?

**SkySplits94** : No.

**SkySplits94** : Maybe.

**SkySplits94** : Yes.

**SkySplits94** : So, you'll do it?

**GoldStarRBB** : I will. Just send me what I need to know, and I'll be the best substitute dance volunteer Lima has ever seen.

**GoldStarRBB** : Wait. When I do this, will you be able to figure out who I am?

**SkySplits94** : I promise I won't go looking.

**GoldStarRBB** : But... if you did...

**SkySplits94** : I won't.

**GoldStarRBB** : I don't know if I'm disappointed or not.

**SkySplits94** : Don't be. All in good time, LS. There's no rush.

**GoldStarRBB** : You keep saying that.

**SkySplits94** : And I keep meaning it. I like you, and you like me. (I'd be remiss not to confess that I'm both relieved and oddly satisfied that that other girl means nothing, in the great scheme of things. I've had a few nasty thoughts about her.)

**GoldStarRBB** : Oh, baby.

**SkySplits94** : I can't help it.

**GoldStarRBB** : She's kind of my friend, and you are my...

**SkySplits94** : You're my... too.

**GoldStarRBB** : Girlfriend?

**SkySplits94** : Girlfriend.

**GoldStarRBB** : Partner?

**SkySplits94** : Partner.

**GoldStarRBB** : Future lover?

**SkySplits94** : Future lover.

**GoldStarRBB** : Am I missing anything?

**SkySplits94** : Yip.

**GoldStarRBB** : What?

**SkySplits94** : EVERYTHING.

**GoldStarRBB** : You're my everything, too.

**SkySplits94** : Goodnight, my little star Xx

**GoldStarRBB** : Goodnight, my pretty girl :*


	7. VIII, IX, X

**VIII**

Rachel feels oddly out of place when she arrives at Lorna's Dance Studio. It's buzzing with activity and the show is still at least six hours away. She's both nervous and excited because this is a place that Pretty Girl has been to. This is a place she _frequents_. Rachel naively convinces herself she can _feel_ Pretty Girl in the walls and mirrors, which is just ridiculous.

Being in love is making her think the most ridiculous things.

Her attention drifts to her hand when her phone buzzes, immediately drawing a smile across her face.

_Pretty Girl: Are you there yet?_

**Little Star: Just arrived.**

_Pretty Girl: Go to the front desk and tell them 'petite étoile' has arrived._

**Little Star: Huh?**

_Pretty Girl: It's 'little star' in French._

**Little Star: Wait. You can speak French?**

_Pretty Girl: You can't? ;)_

Rachel rolls her eyes as she does as instructed and is ushered to a small group of her fellow volunteers to await further instructions. Rachel doesn't recognise any of them, each of them either much older or pleasantly younger than her.

_Pretty Girl: And, yes, I can speak French. I chose to take it instead of Spanish because I have this childish dream of retiring in the French countryside at the age of 45._

**Little Star: Isn't that a little young for retirement?**

_Pretty Girl: I think I missed out the part of my dream where I'm insanely rich by the time I'm 45 as well._

**Little Star: I see.**

**Little Star: Also, you just revealed something about yourself that could help me figure out who you are. You take French.**

_Pretty Girl: I know._

_Pretty Girl: I think I'm done with being coy. I want you to know all of me, and I'm done trying to hide parts of myself._

Yip. Rachel's definitely in love.

_Pretty Girl: Though, I do trust you enough not to go looking until we're both ready._

**Little Star: Noted.**

**Little Star: Baby, they're calling for me. I'll text you when I can.**

_Pretty Girl: X_

* * *

At first, Rachel isn't sure what to expect, but she almost falls into the chaos. She isn't asked to give her name at any time, but the people around her take to calling her 'Star,' which, if she's being honest, she doesn't know how to react to. It _is_ a metaphor, sure, but it feels a little too literal for her liking.

She does have to help with costumes and final choreography. She even helps with the music system as they set up the studio for the incoming audience. The studio itself isn't particularly large, but it will easily fit the students and their parents. Pretty Girl didn't really explain it well, in that this isn't exactly a _recital_ , but more of a showcase. Just the students showing their parents what they've been doing within the comfort of their _home_. Recitals would be in some kind of theatre, surely.

When it's almost time, Rachel excuses herself and visits the bathroom... to text Pretty Girl.

**Little Star: Is it too much to say I'm borderline exhausted right now?**

_Pretty Girl: You love it._

Rachel grins to herself. Her girlfriend knows her _too_ well.

**Little Star: I better head back. I'll send you pictures.**

_Pretty Girl: Ooh, yes please. Thank you for doing this._

**Little Star: :***

There's a part of Rachel that acknowledges that this thing she's doing is some kind of penance for royally messing up, but it feels like something more. This is a way for Pretty Girl to show that she trusts Rachel, and Rachel doesn't intend to let her down.

Leaving the bathroom, Rachel walks through a long corridor littered with picture frames of dance classes of the past, all posing in their leotards and tight buns. So, when she catches sight of it, she pauses, her eyes widening slightly. It's a picture of an old dance class, rows of girls lined up with beaming smiles on their faces. They're young, but Rachel can't mistake the eyes or bone structure of one Quinn Fabray. She steps closer to the enlarged picture, squinting slightly as she takes in the girl who eventually gave way to the goddess that is the Head Cheerleader and perpetual hurricane to Rachel's emotions.

"I see you've found my saplings," a voice says, and Rachel snaps to attention. Lorna May, owner of this here establishment, smiles politely at her. "Didn't mean to startle you," she says. "That's my inaugural graduating class. A bunch of them are in here right now. They're too loyal for their own good."

Rachel swallows audibly, searching the other faces in the picture. She wonders if Pretty Girl is one of them.

"You're a performer?" Lorna asks.

Rachel blinks a few times before she nods. "I go to a studio in Toledo," she says. "I started dance before you opened up or I would have joined here."

"Lima has been slow to get with the times."

Rachel nods, choosing not to mention that it was also just easier and more convenient to go to a studio where none of the children knew she had two fathers. She's never been shy of where she comes from but she's also been unashamed of seeking even a bit of a reprieve from the endlessness that is curious glances and murmured whispers about her family and upbringing.

It all makes sense why Pretty Girl _would_ be worried about coming out in this stupid town. Rachel suspects it's one of the reasons _she_ hasn't done so either. It's not necessary to draw unnecessary attention to herself. She finds she can't wait to get out of this place either. At least she and Pretty Girl share that sentiment. And Quinn, she remembers. And Kurt and Santana and probably Brittany.

Even Finn doesn't want to stay behind and be a 'Lima Loser.' Nor does Noah.

It'd be difficult to find anyone who actually _wants_ to, she supposes, but not everyone will be afforded the opportunity to leave. Rachel _is_. So is Pretty Girl. And Quinn and Kurt and Santana... and Brittany. They're going to escape, and Rachel can't wait for that time when she and Pretty Girl can just _be_. It's what she wants for herself, sure, but she wants it so much more for her girlfriend. She can't say why or how, but she just _knows_ Pretty Girl deserves some semblance of happiness, and Rachel is going to give it everything she has to make sure of it.

* * *

_Pretty Girl: Thank you._

**Little Star: Don't mention it, PG. I had fun. Those kids are wonderful, and Lorna is lovely.**

_Pretty Girl: She mentioned that you're... a few things too._

Rachel feels her heart rate pick up.

**Little Star: Oh? Care to elaborate?**

_Pretty Girl: Not really._

**Little Star: Hey!**

_Pretty Girl: She says you're very pretty. A little short. Long legs. She says you're definitely a trained dancer. Why didn't you say?_

**Little Star: You asked if I CAN dance and I said yes.**

**Little Star: She said I'm pretty?**

_Pretty Girl: Strikingly so. I'm more interested in your legs, really._

**Little Star: Hey!**

**Little Star: Well, I'm very proud of my legs. And, everything else, really.**

**Little Star: Except my nose. THAT is another story entirely.**

_Pretty Girl: I think I would love your nose._

**Little Star: Why?**

_Pretty Girl: Because it's on your pretty face._

**Little Star: How do you know my face is pretty?**

_Pretty Girl: Lorna would never lie about such a thing._

_Pretty Girl: I'm just relieved my girlfriend isn't a toad._

**Little Star: I'm not sure if I should be insulted or not. And I don't think it's fair that you have assurances about my appearance, and I have no idea what you look like, save for your pale skin and killer abs.**

_Pretty Girl: As long as you know they ARE killer._

**Little Star: PG.**

_Pretty Girl: I'm not really one to float my own boat, LS. I know I'm not... unattractive, so you're okay. My best friend hates me for being so 'appealing,' and my better friend claims I'm prettier than a unicorn, so there's that._

**Little Star: Better friend?**

_Pretty Girl: Right. So, as you know, I 'technically' have two best friends, but one of them believes I have a 'better' and a 'best' friend, as if I've unconsciously ranked them. Which, I think I have. I'd move across the country for my best friend but not my better friend._

**Little Star: And now you're doing neither.**

_Pretty Girl: Because I want to be with you._

**Little Star: Have you heard anything from New York?**

_Pretty Girl: Nope. Have you?_

Rachel bites her bottom lip in contemplation. She was planning on waiting until Pretty Girl was back from wherever she had to go, but now is as good a time as ever. She's still a little offended by the fact that her girlfriend has been so vague about her whereabouts, but she's being patient. It's likely Pretty Girl will tell her when she's ready.

**Little Star: I got a conditional acceptance.**

She has to phrase it that way because she's unsure how to explain that she got an audition without revealing that her future is the Arts and... Broadway. It would give too much away and Pretty Girl has made it pretty clear that she doesn't want that specific of a detail.

_Pretty Girl: WHAT!?_

_Pretty Girl: And you're just now telling me? Little Star, oh my God, this is amazing!_

_Pretty Girl: Wait. What does 'conditional acceptance' mean?_

Rachel panics.

**Little Star: I have to interview.**

_Pretty Girl: Oh._

_Pretty Girl: Is that because of the type of degree you're pursuing?_

**Little Star: Yes.**

_Pretty Girl: So, like, you'll have to discuss your portfolio or answer specific questions?_

**Little Star: Yes.**

_Pretty Girl: How do you feel about that?_

**Little Star: Nervous. Excited. Petrified. Ecstatic. So many things, baby.**

_Pretty Girl: I'm so proud of you, you know? Your dream is New York and you're taking all the steps to get there. I can't wait to see it with my own eyes._

**Little Star: Neither can I.**

* * *

"Do you think there's a chance I'll actually get Santana to work on our final paper at all this week?" Rachel asks Kurt as they make their way to the cafeteria for lunch the following Tuesday.

He looks equal parts sympathetic and determined. "I'm sure you can make her submit," he says. "You're Rachel Berry, after all."

"I don't know what that's supposed to mean?"

"It means that you could probably annoy her right into the ground if you were determined enough to do so."

Rachel huffs. "Why are we friends again?"

"I ask myself that question _all the time_."

She shakes her head, switching topics. "Is Quinn coming tonight?"

"Nope," he answers, popping the 'p.'

"Oh?"

He grins at her, thoroughly enjoying the fact that Rachel Berry has a crush on Quinn Fabray. It seems to have turned his friend inside out and upside down trying to come to terms with the very idea that liking Quinn is even a _thing_ she has to deal with on a daily basis. Of course, he _is_ sympathetic to her struggle. Regardless of the fact she has a cyborg girlfriend, Kurt understands what it's like to like someone who is straight.

"She said something about having to catch up on the Cheerios practice she missed on Saturday because she was away," Kurt explains Quinn's absence.

Rachel blinks. "She went away?"

"Yes."

"Do you know where?"

"Wouldn't say and I didn't press," he says. "You know how secretive she can be."

Rachel _does_ know.

But.

Quinn went away.

Pretty Girl went away.

There's no way.

Rachel's brain won't even allow her to entertain the idea.

No.

Just, no.

* * *

It isn't until Thursday when she actually _sees_ Quinn in Juniper's that Rachel starts to feel as if everything is about to crumble all around her. It's a feeling of foreboding and it has everything to do with Quinn Fabray, though she can't be sure _why_.

"Food," Quinn says as soon as she walks into the cafe. "Hot, nasty, greasy food."

As off-kilter as she feels, Rachel can't resist her smile. "Tough practice."

"Feed me, Berry," she says, collapsing on a stool and turning her dark, hazel eyes on Rachel. "I need the calories."

Rachel swallows audibly. "Kurt mentioned that you're, uh, making up for a lost practice."

Quinn's back straightens slightly and her face pinches into a hard look. "I am," she says evenly, sounding guarded. "Not that it's any of your business, but I was out of town."

Rachel can't help feeling unsettled by Quinn's sudden change in posture and she drops her gaze, that niggling feeling roaring to life. It's difficult to ignore now that she's faced with the very real, almost absurd, truth that Quinn and Pretty Girl are potentially the same person.

"Is a cheeseburger okay?" Rachel asks softly, unable to meet Quinn's eyes.

Quinn sighs, and then bravely reaches out to touch Rachel's chin, lifting her head slightly. "I'm sorry," she says gently, her fingers lingering on Rachel's skin. "I don't mean to..." she trails off. "It's habit."

"It's okay," Rachel automatically says.

"No, it's not," Quinn says, dropping her hand and sounding thoroughly defeated. "I've been trying to be better, you know? I _like_ being your friend, and I guess I like who I get to be when I'm around you, but - " she stops. "It's not always like that for me. I don't get to just be me, and sometimes I get defensive and edgy, and I really am sorry."

"Quinn," Rachel breathes.

"Can I - can I tell you?" she asks quietly, almost shyly. "I don't know what it is, but I just feel as if I can talk to you."

"Of course."

She rakes a hand through her damp hair, her eyes softer now. "I have - I have this secret about me, Berry," she says. "It's one of those secrets that I _have_ to carry inside of myself because it _can't_ get out."

Rachel feels her breathing grow shallow.

No.

"This weekend, I went to Columbus... to, umm - " she pauses. "I went to see a lawyer and visit my bank because it's likely that a lot of shit is going to go down when this... secret about me becomes public knowledge."

Rachel blinks, a brief look of horror flashing across her face.

Quinn must notice because she backtracks slightly, her face falling as she forces a humourless laugh. "It's going to be war when I tell my parents I intend to go to Yale and not Harvard."

Rachel isn't sure what to say at this point.

"Let's just say there are other forms of torture that are far worse than the self-inflicted kind," she says, almost casually, and Rachel's heart stops. It literally _stops_. The words are too familiar to be a coincidence. They're practically word-for-word.

No.

There's no way.

But.

"What did you just say?" Rachel asks, her tone almost desperate. Her voice actually sounds strangled in her throat.

"Uh, I said there are other forms of torture that are far worse than the self-inflicted kind," she says, shrugging slightly. She doesn't even _look_ as if she's just blown apart Rachel's entire world.

Rachel blinks once, twice, and then smiles forcefully. "Will you excuse me for a moment? I'll get Marty started on your burger."

Ignoring Quinn's curious look, Rachel spins on her heel to walk into the kitchen and whips out her phone to scroll through the hundreds of messages she's exchanged with her Pretty Girl in the short months they've been conversing.

Pretty Girl.

Who is -

No.

There's no way.

Rachel is safely tucked away in a corner of the kitchen when she finds it. It's an innocuous message, almost out of place in the way it practically flashes on the screen.

_Pretty Girl: There are other forms of torture that are far worse than the self-inflicted kind._

It - it can't be.

Pretty Girl can _not_ be Quinn Fabray.

It's impossible.

But.

It suddenly makes sense.

Everything.

All those niggling feelings she's been ignoring when it comes to Quinn.

God.

Yale. Her sister and Harvard. The trips to Boston. Her relationship with her parents. The pressures to conform. Her best friends are a special case of... sexuality. The picture in Lorna's studio. Quinn does _French_.

No, no.

This isn't happening.

This _can't_ be happening.

No.

"Hey, kid, you okay?"

Rachel snaps her head up to see Marty looking at her with a concerned look on his face. "Everything's fine," she lies, an acidic taste in her mouth. "I need a cheeseburger."

"I'll get right on it."

"With extra bacon," she says automatically, and then cringes because, God, Pretty Girl likes bacon. She feels sick. She feels lost and confused.

God.

What if this was all just some sick, twisted joke? Is this all some plan to humiliate her? One last prank to leave high school with? That would _break_ her. There would be absolutely no recovering from that because she's given so much of herself, wholeheartedly and without abandon. She's in love with a faceless being who... may or may not be a tormentor of her past and a kind of friend of her present.

What Rachel needs is time, and quiet.

She needs to think.

* * *

_Pretty Girl: Go online._

_Pretty Girl: Hello?_

_Pretty Girl: Baby, is everything okay?_

_Pretty Girl: Should I be worried?_

_Pretty Girl: Little Star?_

* * *

**SkySplits94** : I hope nothing's actually happened to you. Maybe you fell asleep. I'd prefer to think that than anything else right now. I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay? Hope you're dreaming sweetly.

 **SkySplits94** : Goodnight, my little star Xx

* * *

.

* * *

**IX**

**Little Star: Have you ever lied to me?**

_Pretty Girl: Gosh, hi, good morning! Are you okay? What happened last night?_

**Little Star: Answer the question. Have you ever lied to me?**

_Pretty Girl: Okay…_

_Pretty Girl: No, I can't recall that I have lied to you, LS. I've been the most truthful with you than anybody else in my life. What's this all about?_

* * *

**Little Star: School is getting hectic now, and I'm falling behind. I think I'm not going to be able to reply for a while. I really need to focus.**

**Little Star: I'm sorry.**

_Pretty Girl: What's a while?_

_Pretty Girl: Little Star?_

_Pretty Girl: Tell me what's going on._

_Pretty Girl: Please?_

* * *

"You look like crap."

Rachel sighs, her head dropping onto the desk in front of her. "Kurt," she whispers. "I _feel_ like crap."

"What's wrong?" he asks as he settles into his own seat. "Are you coming down with something?"

"Possibly."

He leans away from her. "Don't give it to me," he says. "Quinn and I have a marathon session of work scheduled for tonight."

Rachel practically whimpers at the mention of the blonde's name.

Kurt reads the sound as sympathy. "I know, right?" he says tiredly. "She's been on a bit of a rampage these last few days," he explains. "Something must have set her off because I heard a couple of the cheerleaders bitching about the number of laps she made them run. She's turning into scary-Quinn again."

If Rachel wasn't certain before, this piece of information helps her case. Quinn Fabray is definitely Pretty Girl. God, that's terrifying. Quinn _can_ be scary.

Is that what this is? Is she just scared? Because Rachel honestly feels terrified of whatever _this_ is. Her mind just won't let her accept it as truth. It can't be, even if all the evidence is staring her right in the face.

Quinn Fabray and Pretty Girl are one in the same.

Well, there's one way to be absolutely certain.

Rachel lifts her head. "Hey, Kurt, can I borrow your phone for a moment?"

Entirely too trusting, he hands it to her without question. They really don't have secrets between them, and Rachel hates that she's using it to her advantage right now. Still, she scrolls through Kurt's contacts until she comes across 'Quinn Fabray.' Now, Rachel knows Pretty Girl's number off by heart. She learned it in the first hour SkySplits94 sent it to her, and the phone number that's listed under Quinn's contact is all too familiar to her.

Oh.

Closing her eyes for a moment, Rachel does all she can to fight off a wave of... she has no idea what she's feeling in this moment.

"Do you have a headache?" a voice asks, and both Rachel and Kurt snap to attention as Quinn Fabray looms over them, looking very put together. It's in her appearance only because Rachel can _see_ the misery in her eyes. Anyone bothered to look would be able to see it.

Rachel gulps. "I think it's just starting."

"Would you like a painkiller?"

Kurt chuckles. "You're a bit of a junkie, aren't you, Quinn?" he jokes.

Quinn forces a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "Just don't want anyone else to be in pain," she says softly, digging in her bag for the required pills.

It isn't until she's gone to her own desk that Kurt shifts uncomfortably and turns his gaze on Rachel. "Okay... am I missing something?"

Rachel sighs. "I think we're _both_ missing _a lot_."

* * *

_Pretty Girl: Is it futile to ask you to go online?_

_Pretty Girl: I thought as much._

_Pretty Girl: Whatever I said or did, I'm sorry. Please can you just go online so we can talk about this?_

_Pretty Girl: Little Star?_

_Pretty Girl: Can I call you? I'm going to call you._

_Pretty Girl: In hindsight, I should have anticipated your not answering my calls when you're not answering my texts. I'm desperate here, and I just don't understand._

* * *

_Pretty Girl: Or... I understand perfectly._

* * *

_Pretty Girl: You know who I am, don't you?_

* * *

_._

* * *

**X**

All Rachel wants to do is stay in bed all day and wallow. She wants to hide forever, crawl into a dark hole and cry.

Quinn. Quinn. Quinn.

Rachel has no idea what the right thing is to do in this situation. Is she supposed to reveal herself? Is she supposed to stay hidden; maybe reveal that she knows who Quinn is? Seriously, where is the handbook for anonymous, Internet relationships that suddenly get too damn complicated? There really should be one. As much as people pretend, nobody _really_ knows how to do this, do they?

And, if they claim to, they're liars.

As much as Rachel seems to be struggling with her own emotions, Quinn doesn't seem to be faring any better. There is something off with McKinley's Ice Quinn, and it's clear for nearly everyone to see. It could be stress, what with cheerleading Nationals approaching, or it could be something else entirely.

Rachel knows better.

God, she's the worst person in the world. Just, how is she supposed to handle this? Who _can_ she talk to about this? Kurt is too involved now, and she already has an idea what he's going to say. There's also her fathers, but that would mean confessing to maintaining a relationship with someone she met in a _chat room_. If Kurt found it weird, how can she expect her fathers not to boil over with worry. She suspects they won't even care that Rachel now knows who was behind the avatar all along.

Rachel knows she's going to have to do something, but she's still unsure _what_.

* * *

Quinn is visibly distracted when she arrives at the cafe and, as much as Rachel wants to avoid her, she just _can't_. Quinn looks horrible, miserable and dejected, and Rachel feels a pang of guilt that quickly gets squashed by every other thing she's feeling, even if she's unable to name them.

The blonde doesn't even say 'Surprise me.' She just goes straight to her table, practically falls into the seat and drops her head onto the table. It takes Rachel almost eight full minutes to work up the courage to approach her, a glass of water and a lemon and poppyseed muffin in tow. She knows Pretty Girl likes them, and Quinn looks pleasantly surprised when Rachel sets the items down.

"Hi," Quinn says.

"Tough day?" Rachel asks softly, sliding into the booth opposite her. She can't quite bring herself to look in her eyes or even at her face, so she keeps her attention on Quinn's hands. Her, glorious, perfect hands, with wonderful, long fingers.

Rachel shakes her head, trying to clear it.

"You could call it that," Quinn murmurs as she takes a sip of water. "Thank you."

"Sure thing."

They descend into a charged silence that Quinn eventually breaks with an indignant huff. "Actually," she says; "it's been a rather craptastic _week_."

Rachel presses her lips together, her gaze still dropped.

"You know, Rachel, you're probably the only person who isn't looking at me as if they're trying to figure out what on earth is so _wrong_ with the normally icy, composed Queen of McKinley," she says, almost scoffing. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, right? You already know I have feelings."

Rachel isn't sure how to respond to that.

Quinn runs a hand through her damp hair, her eyes dark. The look is dangerously attractive and also a bit terrifying. "Sorry," she says sheepishly. "I don't even _want_ to talk about any of this, and it's probably the last thing you want to be doing."

"That's not true," Rachel immediately counters. "I like being with you."

Quinn arches an eyebrow.

Rachel immediately backtracks. "I mean, I like _talking_ to you," she rectifies. "And, if you want to talk about anything, I'm willing to listen. I mean, if something's bothering you, then you should - "

"Rachel," Quinn interrupts, looking slightly amused. "I know you want to help and, while I appreciate that, I would really like _not_ to be talking about it."

"Of course."

"Thank you, though," she offers, a small smile on her face. "You have no idea what it means to know you're still around."

* * *

_Pretty Girl: Will you at least talk to me about this?_

_Pretty Girl: Something? Anything?_

* * *

_Pretty Girl: Do you remember those bad scenarios I told you about? This is one of them._

_Pretty Girl: Only, it feels even worse than I ever could have imagined._

* * *

_Pretty Girl: Okay. I've given all of this a lot of thought and I've spent a long time thinking about what I wanted to say. I don't for a second think I've come even remotely close to everything I could say, but I'm still going to try. I don't know what's going on - and I'm not entirely sure I want to know - but I think these are probably going to be the last messages I'll send. I think I've experienced enough radio silence from you to warrant it. It's clearly what you want, and so I'm going to give it to you. I just have to say a few things to you._

_Pretty Girl: Firstly, I should probably apologise. You've clearly been blindsided by my identity and, for the life of me, I can't figure out how you found out. I had it all planned, you know? The Big Reveal. It was going to be romantic and special. We were going to meet some place safe and comfortable, and I was going to get you flowers. I imagine you'd appreciate flowers. It makes me nervous just thinking about it. Excited, too. I had so many things planned. Things I wanted to say and questions I wanted to ask. I suppose now I'll receive no answers._

_Pretty Girl: Maybe I've hurt you in the past. It's definitely a possibility because I've hurt many people in my past, including myself. For that, I suppose I owe another apology. It probably means nothing now, but it's all I have. I was terrified of this happening and, now that it has, I know my fear was warranted. This is honestly the worst feeling in the world._

_Pretty Girl: Still, I want to say thank you. You've showed me it's okay to forgive myself, and others. You've showed me it's okay to love myself. I can't imagine I've done for you even half of what you've done for me, but it's probably all moot now, anyway, because I clearly haven't done enough for redemption if you've run at the first hurdle my identity poses._

_Pretty Girl: I wish you great and wonderful things, Little Star. I wish you such happiness and love and joy and success. I wish all these things for you and so much more. I think -_

_Pretty Girl: No. I know. I KNOW._

_Pretty Girl: I love you, my little star Xx_


	8. XI, XII

**XI**

"It's Quinn."

Kurt glances over his shoulder, looking around for any sight of the blonde cheerleader. "Uh, Quinn is where?"

"No, Kurt," Rachel says, sighing. "It's _Quinn_."

"I'm not sure I'm following."

" _She's_ Quinn."

Kurt frowns. "She's Quinn what?" he questions, looking thoroughly confused. "Rachel, honey, use your words and tell me what's going on?"

She isn't sure what more she can say, given that the emotional turmoil of the very truth she's trying to convey to him is almost paralysing. She can barely breathe.

At her silence, his eyes widen in panic and irritation. "Did Quinn say something nasty to you?" he immediately questions. "Did you have a fight? Gosh, is _that_ why you've both been acting like someone kicked your puppies?"

"What?"

Kurt sighs. "What happened?"

"I know who she is," Rachel says.

"Who she is," he echoes, rolling the words around in his head. When he clicks, he smiles widely. "Oh my God." Then: "Ohh." Then: "You said - wait - no - Quinn?" Then: "Oh. My. God."

Rachel buries her face in her hands and forces herself not to cry. She's managed to hold it together so well. She can't start now.

"I can actually see it," Kurt eventually says, and Rachel's head snaps up, her eyes wide. "What?" he asks innocently when she stares at him in disbelief. "My gaydar was totally pinging with that one, but I'm not foolish enough to say anything about it."

Rachel isn't sure what to say to that, and her face gives away her obvious devastation.

"Okay…?" he questions. "I thought you would be happy about this," he says. "Didn't you have a crush on her? I mean, this is like the _perfect_ story, Rachel. It's a damn fairytale. It's almost uncanny. I mean, the probability is astronomical. It _has_ to be something out of the Enchanted Forest or something. Oh my God, it's _True Love_."

Rachel shakes her head at his words, suddenly annoyed. Why isn't he as freaked out about this entire thing as she is? "Fairytales don't exist, Kurt," she says flatly. "This is real life."

Kurt raises his eyebrows in surprise at her tone, more than her words. "Rachel," he says carefully. "Rachel, what did you do?"

She just shakes her head again.

"What did you do?" he asks again. "Did - does she _know_ you know?"

"She figured it out."

Kurt is five seconds away from grabbing her shoulders and shaking her. Why isn't she _telling_ him the full story? There's something in her eyes - something oddly devoid of all emotion - and it's putting him on edge. "Rachel," he tries again, sounding as calm as he can manage. "What happened?"

Rachel takes a deep breath before she proceeds to explain the situation to him as best she can. It sounds even worse when she says it out loud because, really, she has absolutely no idea what she's doing. She hopes Kurt can offer her some semblance of insight into what she's supposed to do. It's Quinn. There's no coming back from that, and she definitely doesn't know where she's supposed to start to begin to get them back to some foreign state of normal.

Has anything ever been normal?

"Wait," Kurt says, frowning. "You did what?"

Rachel drops her gaze. "I told her I needed some... space."

"Without telling her why?"

Rachel takes a deep breath, trying not to let the emotions of her predicament overwhelm her. She's managed to keep it together before this, and she's definitely not going to fall apart at school. In front of Kurt, no less. She has this thought that he'll probably tease her about this in the future. Tease _them_.

 _God_.

"Rachel," Kurt says, his tone serious and his eyes severe. "I can't even begin to understand what's going through your head right now, but I would be remiss not to remind you to put yourself in her shoes." He shakes his head. "Forget _who_ she is for a second, and remember that she's - " he stops, sighing. "Jesus, Rachel, what are you doing? She's your Pretty Girl, isn't she? Forget for a second that she's Quinn, and remember that she's still a girl who's put herself out there in the scariest way imaginable. I mean, have you _seen_ her?"

Rachel has. She's done nothing but watch Quinn, feeling the weight of her decisions settle heavily on her chest and make the entire situation that bit more to deal with when she takes in the cloud of misery that seems to be hovering above the blonde. Rachel is failing quite spectacularly.

"I don't know what to do," Rachel whispers, her breath catching.

Kurt narrows his eyes. "Please, Rachel," he says; "we both know exactly what you're supposed to do."

"Would you tell her?" she presses. "Would you? Knowing what you know about her, and what you know about me, or me _and_ her; would you?"

"What _do_ you know about her?"

For so long, she was convinced that she _knew_ her Pretty Girl, and she was starting to get to know Quinn, but did she really know all that much about either of them? How could she, when Quinn acted one way, and her Pretty Girl was someone else entirely? Her mind just couldn't wrap itself around the two of them being one in the same.

"All I know is I'm in love with her," she finally says.

Kurt shakes his head in both disappointment and disbelief. "Well, you sure have a wonderful way of showing it."

* * *

"Dads," Rachel says, sounding somber.

Hiram and LeRoy Berry exchange a brief look at the tone of their daughter's voice. They're sitting at the dinner table, later than usual because LeRoy finished at the hospital later than anticipated, and it hasn't been lost on either of them that something has been bothering Rachel. While Hiram wanted flat out to ask her about it; LeRoy urged him to wait it out. She would eventually come to them with whatever was on her mind, and it seems their patience has paid off.

"What is it, Sweetheart?" Hiram gently prompts.

Rachel sets down her fork, breathing deeply. "I'm in love," she says softly, the declaration that bit more profound, owing to the tone of her voice. This is the second time in one day she's admitting to these feelings, and it feels no less profound. "With a girl," she adds a beat later.

Neither Hiram nor LeRoy speak, just waiting for her to continue.

"For months, I had no idea who she was," she says. "We met on the NYU website, and we started talking. I learned that she was from Lima. We go to the same school, and it was just so easy to talk to her. We were just friends first, and then we were... _more_. I think I started to like her first, but she brought it into the conversation before I could. She confessed to me that she was gay, but nobody knew. She was convinced she wouldn't be able to come out in a safe way, and I like to think I helped her come to terms with who she is." Rachel sucks in a shaky breath. "She's - she's absolutely wonderful. She's always been, and I fell in love."

Hiram opens his mouth to speak, even though he's unsure what he's going to say.

"Then I figured out who she was," Rachel says, barely looking up at them. "And I've been freaking out ever since."

"Why, Sweetheart?"

Rachel breathes out. "You don't understand."

"Rachel," LeRoy says, suddenly worried. "Who is she?"

"You can't tell anyone," she says worriedly. "God, she'd never forgive me."

"Rachel," LeRoy says again.

"It's Quinn," she eventually says. "Her name is Quinn." She buries her face in her hands. "She's Quinn Fabray."

Hiram and LeRoy both stare at her, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. Quinn _Fabray_? Both men are familiar with her father, and with the _word_ of the church he constantly perpetuates. It's no secret to any of the gay community of Lima that the man would have them abolished if he had his way. And that's only to do with Quinn's father. There's also the truth that Quinn and Rachel have locked horns on numerous occasions. As far as both men are concerned, the two girls haven't spent any time together before this year.

"I'm in love with her," Rachel repeats. "And I'm terrified." She wrings her fingers together. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I don't know what to do. Please tell me what to do."

Hiram and LeRoy exchange a look, silently having a conversation about how to approach this subject.

"Rachel," Hiram says gently, but, before he can continue, Rachel jumps to her feet, surprising them all. Her chair almost topples backwards, but she looks deeply composed.

"I think I know what I have to do," she says. "I think I've always known." She runs a hand through her hair. "I love her, and I don't want to lose her. I have to tell her. She has to know. I don't know why it's taken me so long. God, she must be - " she stops suddenly. "I have to go."

Before either man can even register anything she's said, Rachel is gone, halfway up the stairs.

She's a girl on a mission.

* * *

**Little Star: Go online.**

**Little Star: Please.**

* * *

**GoldStarRBB** : Hi.

 **GoldStarRBB** : How are you?

 **GoldStarRBB** : How was you day?

 **SkySplits94** : Is that really what you're leading with?

 **GoldStarRBB** : What would you rather I say?

 **SkySplits94** : Oh, I don't know. What could I POSSIBLY want you to say right now?

 **GoldStarRBB** : I'm sorry?

 **SkySplits94** : Are you seriously asking me if I want you to apologise to me after keeping me in the dark for a full week, thinking that any one of these days was going to be the day a poster with GAY FABRAY was going to show up in the school corridors?

 **GoldStarRBB** : Quinn, no, I would never do that.

 **SkySplits94** : Don't. Don't use my name.

 **SkySplits94** : And what the fuck did you EXPECT me to think? You find out who I am, and then drop off the earth. I've been going fucking crazy with anxiety and panic and HURT. I told you I was terrified of you finding out, and look how you reacted. You just left me. You didn't even talk to me. You let me imagine the worst. You made every day the scariest day of my life. You made me feel unworthy and I didn't even get a fucking explanation. Am I not worth even that?

 **SkySplits94** : So, what I want you to say right now is absolutely moot anyway. There's nothing you could possibly say to fix this.

 **GoldStarRBB** : I love you too.

 **SkySplits94** : What?

 **GoldStarRBB** : I'm in love with you. I've been in love with you for so long.

 **GoldStarRBB** : I know it doesn't mean much right now, but I love you in a way that terrifies me. And, yes, it's because you're you, but it's also because I'm me. It's who we are to each other.

 **GoldStarRBB** : I panicked. I regressed and hid, and I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry. You'll understand when you find out. You'll definitely understand.

 **GoldStarRBB** : Also, do you remember that girl I told you I had a crush on, and how you joked about her actually being you?

 **GoldStarRBB** : Well, it turns out she is you. Or, you are her. It's almost too good to be true, and I panicked. I'm still panicking because it can't be real. It's not possible.

 **GoldStarRBB** : I started to think it had to be trick. I'm sorry, but you and I haven't had very good experiences in the past, and I'm ashamed of my thoughts now. I couldn't distinguish between the person in my phone, the person I knew in our past, and the person I've been getting to know. It's even more difficult to see you as all the same person.

 **GoldStarRBB** : This all scares me so much. I've never felt so much for a faceless stranger, but now that I know who you are and have managed to get over the initial shock; I'm really glad it's you.

 **GoldStarRBB** : My feeling is that you're not going to like who I am when you find out. You already don't like me on most days, so I can only imagine how this is just going to aggravate your feelings in that regard.

 **GoldStarRBB** : But, I love you, and it scares me. It terrifies me. You've always scared me, ever since we met, because you've always made me feel things so intensely. Emotions have always run high when the two of us are involved.

 **GoldStarRBB** : So, yes, I'm sorry. It doesn't feel like enough. I wish I could say or do more because it barely feels like enough.

 **GoldStarRBB** : I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

 **SkySplits94** : You're in love with me?

 **GoldStarRBB** : If that's all you took out of all of that, I'll take it.

 **GoldStarRBB** : Yes, I am. Dangerously so. I was in love with you before I even knew who you were, and I'm in love with you now. I'm in love with the complete you, the past, present and the future. I know I didn't handle this well but I'm asking you to... I don't know. Forgive me? Let me make it up to you? Prove to you I'm worth it and I mean my words? Anything.

 **SkySplits94** : I'm mad at you. I am SO mad at you.

 **GoldStarRBB** : I'm mad at me too.

 **SkySplits94** : But you're in love with me?

 **GoldStarRBB** : Dangerously so.

 **SkySplits94** : And you're okay with loving me?

 **GoldStarRBB** : Now that I've spent some time coming to terms with it, I'm more than okay. Quinn, I'm ecstatic.

 **GoldStarRBB** : Sorry.

 **GoldStarRBB** : Pretty Girl, I'm over the moon.

 **SkySplits94** : You can call me Quinn if you want to.

 **GoldStarRBB** : Thank you.

 **SkySplits94** : What do I call you?

 **GoldStarRBB** : Little Star.

 **SkySplits94** : That doesn't seem fair.

 **GoldStarRBB** : I don't think you're ready to know who I am. And, frankly, neither am I.

 **SkySplits94** : I don't have much of a choice, do I?

 **GoldStarRBB** : Will you keep talking to me?

 **SkySplits94** : I've never wanted to stop.

 **GoldStarRBB** : But you said...?

 **SkySplits94** : I know what I said. I think you know why I said those things. We both do.

 **SkySplits94** : And, since you know me as well as you claim you do, I shouldn't have to explain myself.

 **GoldStarRBB** : This is true. I do know you. Which is the number one reason I know you wouldn't just tell me something as profound as that without meaning it. You were willing to maintain an end to correspondence because you believed it was something I wanted.

 **SkySplits94** : Wasn't it?

 **GoldStarRBB** : No.

 **GoldStarRBB** : It's never been.

 **GoldStarRBB** : I wanted time. A small grace period to come to terms with how I feel about you being you. But I just didn't know how to go about asking for it. This is all still a bit surreal.

 **SkySplits94** : I was impatient, and hurt and confused, and I've been a raging bitch to everyone around me. I'll be surprised if I still have friends after this ordeal.

 **GoldStarRBB** : You'll have me.

 **SkySplits94** : You're all I've ever wanted.

 **GoldStarRBB** : *Swoon*

 **GoldStarRBB** : Are we okay?

 **SkySplits94** : I think so. Just, you know, be here. Don't leave.

 **GoldStarRBB** : I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. Never again.

 **SkySplits94** : Wait. So, this means that you and I have spoken? We've interacted before?

 **GoldStarRBB** : That's one way to put it, yes.

 **SkySplits94** : And I didn't even know.

 **GoldStarRBB** : For what it's worth, I didn't know either. But then, I figured it out, and it was as if the floodgates opened and I felt so stupid for never figuring it out before. The signs have been there and, really, it's still a bit of a shock how it's all worked out. My best friend claims it's something out of a fairytale.

 **SkySplits94** : Your best friend knows about me?!

 **GoldStarRBB** : Uh... yes. I told you that.

 **SkySplits94** : No.

 **SkySplits94** : Does he know about the 'Quinn' me?

 **SkySplits94** : God, LS, does he know I'm gay?

 **SkySplits94** : Little Star?

 **GoldStarRBB** : Okay, so, he does. But he won't tell anyone, I promise. He's never told anyone about me, and I trust him with this.

 **GoldStarRBB** : Do you trust me?

 **SkySplits94** : I don't think that's a fair question to be asking me right now?

 **GoldStarRBB** : Do you?

 **SkySplits94** : Yes.

 **GoldStarRBB** : I promise, Quinn, your secret is safe with us. Believe me when I say WE definitely understand, okay?

 **SkySplits94** : Once again, I don't have a choice, do I?

 **GoldStarRBB** : I promise you that the truth will _never_ come from me, or from him.

 **SkySplits94** : Okay. I believe you. I trust you.

 **SkySplits94** : And, on that note, I think I'm going to head to bed. Today has been an emotional, rollercoaster of a day, and I'm knackered.

 **GoldStarRBB** : Who even uses the word 'knackered' in everyday life?

 **SkySplits94** : I do.

 **GoldStarRBB** : Not even a little bit surprising, to be honest.

 **SkySplits94** : Shut up.

 **GoldStarRBB** : You love me.

 **SkySplits94** : I do. I really do.

 **SkySplits94** : Goodnight, my little star Xx

 **SkySplits94** : I love you.

 **GoldStarRBB** : Goodnight, my pretty girl :*

 **GoldStarRBB** : I love you, too.

* * *

.

* * *

**XII**

**Little Star: Good morning, Pretty Girl! Just wanted to let you know that you are looking exceptionally radiant this morning. That smile is infectious.**

**Little Star: Is there any particular reason for your sudden change in mood?**

Rachel can't help giggling to herself as she presses send and turns her attention to Kurt as he slides into his chair after a quick stop at the bathroom. She didn't even know how much she was looking forward to English until she laid eyes on Quinn walking into the classroom, bag over her shoulder, steady smile on her face and long, perfect, pale legs on full display.

Of course, she's noticed Quinn's toned body before, but now she doesn't feel guilty about looking. Quinn is her Pretty Girl, and Rachel gets to have her; both of them. Because they're the same person.

She sighs in content.

Kurt quirks an eyebrow at his best friend. "Okay...? What's wrong?"

Rachel is almost lazy and delirious as she looks at him. "She loves me," she says. "And I love her. Nothing will ever be wrong again, my dear Kurt Hummel."

He looks deathly amused. "So, you told her who you are and she didn't freak out?"

She blinks, sitting up straight. "Umm, well, no," she says. "She still doesn't know who I am."

His eyes widen in surprise. "You didn't tell her? Why not?"

"Because she's going to freak out," she defends. "I'm not ready for her to know, and I don't think she is either. It's better this way. For now, I get to woo her in so many secretly different ways."

"What do you mean?"

"I baked her brownies," she declares, smiling like the lovesick idiot she is. "She once admitted to be willing to divulge secrets if I gave her food. I'm hoping to gain some intel."

He shakes his head. "I honestly can't believe this is what my life has come to," he says in disbelief. "Rachel Berry and Quinn Fabray. Never in my life."

Rachel grins at him.

"But, I can see it," he says. "I don't know how or why, but it makes sense. You just make sense."

"I've never known love to make sense," she says.

"And I've never known anything about you to make sense either," he counters; "and yet, here we are."

She giggles, feeling giddy and disgustingly happy. Which are feelings that amplify when her phone buzzes in her hand, immediately drawing her attention.

_Pretty Girl: First, you're making me blush. I keep searching all the faces I see, in case I see something different. I hate that I can't seem to be able to look into a group of students and just know._

_Pretty Girl: And now you're just fishing for compliments. Control yourself, woman._

**Little Star: I'm so happy right now; I'm amazed I haven't blinded people.**

_Pretty Girl: So... you're smiling, are you? Why might that be?_

**Little Star: Because I'm in love.**

_Pretty Girl: Oh?_

**Little Star: And the best part is she loves me too.**

_Pretty Girl: Fancy that._

**Little Star: I predict this to be a wonderful, wonderful day.**

Which is a prediction that crashes and burns the second Mr Pope opens his mouth to remind them that they have just over three weeks to complete and hand in the written portion of their project. There's also a presentation element, which they're going to have to sign up for when he releases the allotted times.

**Little Star: I take it back.**

_Pretty Girl: Tell me about it._

_Pretty Girl: I have this English project that is draining my soul. I have NO time to dedicate the right amount of attention to it... I don't even know what I'm supposed to do._

**Little Star: You'll figure it out. You're a boffin.**

_Pretty Girl: Who even uses that word?_

**Little Star: I do.**

_Pretty Girl: You're not allowed to tease me about using 'knackered' anymore._

**Little Star: That's not how this works.**

_Pretty Girl: Oh? Who says?_

**Little Star: I do.**

_Pretty Girl: And I'm just supposed to accept that?_

**Little Star: I baked you brownies.**

_Pretty Girl: I love you._

Rachel has to force herself not to squeal in delight, her teeth trapping her bottom lip tight enough to draw blood. Kurt looks over, sees her facial expression and rolls his eyes with a shake of his head. Curiously, he turns around to look at Quinn, and he isn't surprised to note her flushed face and hooded eyes. Seriously, how has he not noticed before?

**Little Star: I love you too.**

* * *

"I know I've said it before, but something is _seriously_ different about you."

At the sound of the words, Rachel's smile slips from her face. Gosh, could she be any more obvious? She should know better than to act like anything more than a work-focused robot in front of Santana Lopez. "I don't know what you're talking about," she says, trying not to sound too eager to remove herself from _this_ particular conversation. "And, we're here to discuss our final paper," she adds briskly. "Have you looked at the notes Mr Pope left for us?"

Scowling slightly, Santana eventually gives their work her attention. It's just Rachel and Santana today because Brittany is at home with a cold and Quinn is doing Quinn things. It's all Santana tells her, and Rachel doesn't ask questions. There's no point when Rachel learned from Pretty Girl that she's doing research for life after high school. The two of them haven't actually spoken about what happens when Quinn leaves home - with the intention of possibly never returning - and Rachel hasn't brought it up again.

The topic isn't all sunshine and roses for the blonde, and Rachel doesn't want to add on any unnecessary stress. Not with this English project, Finals and Nationals all to worry about. The pressure is overwhelming, and Rachel is determined to help Quinn escape it.

"From the feedback, he seems to have more of a problem with your part than mine," Santana says.

Rachel huffs in annoyance. "We're _partners_ , Santana," she says. "They're both our parts."

"You say that, but we both know better."

Rachel shakes her head, trying to find the strength and patience to get through this. She suspects Santana is more snarky than usual because Brittany is ill. Rachel can only imagine what kind of monster she would be if there was very little she could do to make Pretty Girl feel better. Sometimes, the immune system just is, and you have to suck it up and deal with it.

"He said we spent too much time explaining the various denominations of sexual preference," Rachel says. "I do admit that we might have put a little too much detail than was strictly necessary. I just wanted us to be thorough."

Santana eyes her. "It's something you feel strongly about, isn't it?"

Rachel frowns. "What?"

"Homosexuality."

Her breath catches. No. She's just panicking for nothing. It's not as if Santana can just tell. Rachel is still Rachel, whether or not she's now accepted her bisexuality or not. That's the entire point of the fight they're all trying to fight. Nothing changes about who the person is. They are, perhaps, more free, because the stress of hiding the secret is no more.

"I've grown up with it," Rachel eventually says. "I think I even have the ACLU on speed dial."

"It's been difficult on your fathers, hasn't it?"

Rachel narrows her eyes in suspicion, even though she's pleasantly surprised by the question. There's a hint of sincerity in her voice that gives Rachel pause. "It has, yes," she says. "I imagine it's always been that way, but it got worse when they made the decision to have me."

Rachel leaves herself open to a lot with that sentence and, surprisingly, Santana doesn't take the bait. Instead, the Latina refocuses on their work... effectively lulling Rachel into a false security. Santana knows there's something different about Rachel Berry, and she's determined to figure it out.

* * *

"Well, you don't look to be in a foul mood."

Rachel startles at the sound of Quinn's voice, her head snapping up and laying eyes on the blonde... who is ridiculously stunning. Rachel is surprised she didn't hear her enter the cafe, her focus on her phone. She's a terrible server, really.

Quinn is wearing a dangerous smirk as she slides onto _her_ stool. "Santana says you actually got work done," she says. "I had to see for myself to make sure she didn't actually kill you and then lie right to my face." Her face falls slightly, her brow furrowing.

Rachel pushes off the counter behind her, pockets her phone and gives Quinn her full attention. "Is everything okay?" she asks, and Quinn looks momentarily thrown by her sincerity.

"Hmm? Oh, yeah," she says, slightly distracted. "Just thought of something."

"Anything you want to talk about?"

She chuckles lightly. "I feel like I should apologise for how brisk I was with you the last time I was here," she says, the amusement melting away. "I was going through something and you were just trying to help. You didn't deserved my clipped tone."

"No, it's okay," Rachel says. "I get it."

Quinn still looks a bit guilty. "You don't have to say that, Berry."

"I think you'll find that I very rarely say things I don't mean," Rachel says, and Quinn gives her a curious look. If she's not careful, Rachel is going to end up giving herself away and then what are they going to do? She clears her throat. "What can I get for you?"

Quinn leans forward, her fingers linking together on the counter. "Food," she says. "Something sweet."

Rachel raises her eyebrows. "Is it a special occasion?"

She laughs lightly. "I've had a good day," she says, and Rachel has to force herself not to smile smugly. "Can't I indulge?"

"Definitely," she says. "Surprise you?"

Quinn meets her gaze, a certain spark in her eye that gives Rachel pause. "You've been doing that all along, haven't you?"

Rachel's breath catches. "So have you, Quinn," she replies, almost a whisper. "So have you."

* * *

_Pretty Girl: Go online._

* * *

**GoldStarRBB** : I'm here! Sorry I'm late. I had to deal with a parental situation downstairs.

 **SkySplits94** : Everything okay?

 **GoldStarRBB** : I hope so. Just, parents being parents, you know.

 **SkySplits94** : No, I don't actually know. My parents are special cases, I think. Striving for perfection in their children and outward appearances while drowning in the proverbial misery of alcohol. It's really very pretty.

 **GoldStarRBB** : Oh, Quinn.

 **SkySplits94** : It's always a surprise to me whenever you use my name. It's pleasant, though. I like it. I just wish I could hear it.

 **GoldStarRBB** : Soon?

 **SkySplits94** : Yeah?

 **GoldStarRBB** : I've had my own 'Big Reveal' planned for quite some time now. I want to make it special for you.

 **SkySplits94** : Is there a specific date set for this event?

 **GoldStarRBB** : Perhaps.

 **SkySplits94** : Am I going to get ANYTHING from you?

 **GoldStarRBB** : Would a kiss suffice?

 **SkySplits94** : It'll do.

 **GoldStarRBB** : :*

 **SkySplits94** : I swear it's as if I can feel it.

 **GoldStarRBB** : Where did you feel it?

 **SkySplits94** : Everywhere.

 **GoldStarRBB** : I COULD let this get dirty but there's something I actually wanted to tell you.

 **SkySplits94** : Bummer.

 **SkySplits94** : Go ahead.

 **GoldStarRBB** : Well, first, I love you.

 **SkySplits94** : Little Star. I'm blushing.

 **SkySplits94** : I love you, too.

 **GoldStarRBB** : And, secondly, I would like to do something special for you. Will you let me?

 **SkySplits94** : That depends. What are we talking about here?

 **GoldStarRBB** : Do you trust me?

 **GoldStarRBB** : Pretty Girl?

 **GoldStarRBB** : Quinn?

 **GoldStarRBB** : It's okay to tell me you don't trust me, you know. I know things have been a little rocky lately, but you can talk to me, all right? I won't be offended. I know I messed up, and I don't need you to spare my feelings.

 **SkySplits94** : Sorry. I'm here. My mother just came into my room and we had the most awkward eight minutes of my entire life.

 **SkySplits94** : I do trust you, Little Star.

 **GoldStarRBB** : Oh. Well, thanks.

 **GoldStarRBB** : What did she want?

 **SkySplits94** : You know, sometimes I get the feeling she knows. I catch her looking at me sometimes, her eyes searching, as if she's trying to see something in my face that will either prove or disprove her assumptions. I still don't know if she's found what she's looking for.

 **SkySplits94** : As for what she wanted... let's just say she'll be very disappointed if I fail to maintain my position of Valedictorian, win Cheerleading Nationals and become Prom Queen.

 **GoldStarRBB** : That sounds like a lot of pressure.

 **SkySplits94** : It is.

 **GoldStarRBB** : Well, that's where my special something becomes handy. It's a stress-reliever.

 **SkySplits94** : Are you going to give me a massage?

 **GoldStarRBB** : Better than that.

 **SkySplits94** : I doubt any such thing could exist.

 **GoldStarRBB** : Damn, you're good.

 **SkySplits94** : Yes. Yes, I am.

 **GoldStarRBB** : You said you trust me. Let me do this thing for you.

 **SkySplits94** : Sigh.

 **SkySplits94** : If I must.

 **GoldStarRBB** : You're going to love it.

 **SkySplits94** : I'll take your word for it.

 **GoldStarRBB** : Good girl.

 **SkySplits94** : Goodnight, my little star Xx

 **SkySplits94** : I love you.

 **GoldStarRBB** : Goodnight, my pretty girl :*

 **GoldStarRBB** : I love you, too.


	9. XIII, XIV, XV

**XIII**

**Little Star: Are you there yet?**

Rachel waits with bated breath as she attempts to wrangle an excitable puppy. Quinn should be here any minute, and Rachel's trying not to appear too eager. For days, she's wrestled with whether this is a good idea or not. Eventually, she decided that getting Quinn used to the _idea_ of her is the way to go. If they can be good friends when Pretty Girl finally learns who Little Star is, then maybe Quinn won't be so... horrified.

_Pretty Girl: Just arrived._

_Pretty Girl: Baby, what exactly am I doing here?_

Rachel grins to herself, and then grins down at Apollo in front of her. "Did you hear that, boy?" she asks happily. "She's here, Apollo."

He yaps at her, and Rachel scratches him behind the ears. She arrived almost an hour ago, with the intention of spending the entire day volunteering at the animal shelter. She was always going to go it anyway, but inviting Quinn - or, well, Pretty Girl - to enjoy in the innocence of puppies and kittens was... a recent decision. For Rachel, spending time with animals always makes her feel happy and grounded, and she wants that for her girlfriend.

**Little Star: Have you spoken to Derek yet?**

Rachel can hear Derek out front, and she imagines he's talking to Quinn right now. Never in her life did she think she would be jealous of the man, but she is. She wants to be able to talk to Quinn with ease, but she has to work up to it. The one good thing, Rachel knows, is that she's not the only other volunteer on this particular Saturday. That would have been a little too fishy, if you ask her and she thinks Quinn might have seen right through it.

Though, it's actually truly amusing to Rachel that Quinn still _doesn't_ know. It's borderline impossible, but she can see how the brain can trick you into seeing some things and not seeing others. Rachel felt like an idiot for not figuring it out earlier, and she imagines that Quinn will feel the same way. Maybe even worse, really, because there are so many signs. She worries that, if ever Quinn were to take the time, read back and actually _think_ about it; she'll figure it out, and then the world will be over... or something equally dramatic.

_Pretty Girl: LS._

_Pretty Girl: Why do I have to get changed?_

Rachel chuckles to herself, and Apollo gives her a curious look. She runs a hand over his soft fur. "I'm going to tell you a secret," she says quietly. "I'm in love. I'm so in love, A, and she's lovely. She wonderful." Apollo jumps up slightly in an attempt to lick her face, and Rachel laughs as she tries to hold him off. "I know, I know," she says. "You're still my favourite, I promise." He yaps again, jumping up, and Rachel hugs him close to her chest.

That's how Derek finds them... closely followed by Quinn Fabray.

Rachel squeaks in surprise, and Derek just laughs.

"I should have known that you would still be working on Apollo," Derek says, clearly still amused.

"He's got a dirty coat," she lightly defends. "And, I mean, look at this face," she adds, turning Apollo's head towards Derek and a surprised Quinn.

"Yeah, yeah, he's cute, we know," Derek says. "There are other animals, Rachel."

"But none of them are as cute as this one," she says, and Apollo yaps in agreement, practically squeaking. The action draws a small giggle from Quinn, and Derek glances at her, as if he's just remembering she's standing there.

"Oh, right," Derek says. "Quinn, this is Rachel," he says. "Rachel, meet Quinn. She'll be helping out today."

The girls exchange an amused look.

Derek glances between them, and rolls his eyes. "You two already know each other, don't you?"

"Kind of," Quinn says. "Hey, Rach."

Rachel practically swoons at the nickname falling from Quinn's lips, and she can't help her smile. "Hi, Quinn."

Quinn looks as if she wants to ask something, but Derek starts moving.

"Let me give you a quick tour," he says. "Introduce you to a few of the other volunteers and set you up at one of the stations. Think you can handle bathing a few pups?"

Rachel doesn't hear Quinn's response as they walk away, but she does get a text from Pretty Girl a few minutes later, and she has to force herself not to laugh out loud.

_Pretty Girl: What on earth have you got me into?_

**Little Star: Aren't they adorable?**

_Pretty Girl: I think I'm going to melt at how cute they are, actually. You'll never meet me. I'm going to die of a cuteness overload._

Rachel finishes with Apollo and, reluctantly, returns him to his... cage. It's one of the things she hates about shelters - the cages - but she realises their necessity. There are too many animals here, and not all of them get along. Sometimes, keeping them in cages is for their own protection.

Rachel has to walk past Quinn's station with Apollo, and she can't resist the urge to stop and stare at the way Quinn seems to be interacting with the scrappy little Boxer named Aldo. She seems to be talking to him about something, and Rachel can't stop looking if she tries. All she wants to do is stand there with Apollo and stare at her blonde for all of eternity.

As if Quinn can feel eyes on her, she looks up and turns, her eyes catching Rachel's. The smile that spreads across her face is blinding, and Rachel practically stumbles backwards. Quinn's smile falters in concern, which prompts Rachel to get a hold of herself. She steps forward, smiling winningly.

"Do you come here often?" Rachel asks, and then cringes internally at how awful that sounds. Why would she lead with that?

Quinn finds the question amusing, so Rachel doesn't worry too much about it. "Not exactly," she answers, somewhat diplomatically. "This is actually my first time volunteering." She clears her throat, blushing slightly, and Rachel is transfixed. "I'm assuming you _do_ come here often," she says. "Derek seems to know you, and that puppy is practically attached to you."

Rachel steps forward and holds out Apollo's front right paw. "Quinn, this is Apollo," she says. "Apollo, this is Quinn. I was telling you about her, remember?"

Quinn raises her eyebrows quizzically. "You were?"

Rachel nods, smiling as if she knows something Quinn doesn't. Which, in hindsight, she actually does. "Oh, I tell him everything," she says. "I practically recount entire weeks. I knew _somebody_ had to like the sound of my voice."

Quinn's smile turns sad. "I like it," she says. "I mean, I haven't _always_ liked it, but I do now. It grows on you."

"Like a fungus?"

Quinn laughs out loud, and Rachel melts a little. "Let it be known that _you're_ the one who said it."

Admittedly, Rachel was worried this would all be a little too much for her, and for Quinn, but it's good. It _feels_ good, because Quinn is smiling at _her_ , and there's something entirely disarming about having Quinn Fabray's full attention.

Rachel doesn't think she could give it up for anything.

* * *

At lunch time, Rachel bravely asks Quinn if she'd like to join her for a light meal at the cafe across the street. For a moment, Quinn seems to hesitate, and Rachel wants to kick herself for... pushing too much too fast.

But then Quinn is grinning. "And what would Juniper have to say about that?" she asks. "Supporting the competition?"

Rachel laughs, half in relief. "I think we could spin it," she casually says. "Call it research."

Quinn's eyes practically dance, and Rachel feels herself falling in love with the real person. Until this point, she's been in love with a faceless girl with a sarcastic streak and swoon-worthy words. But now that she's faced with the real thing, it's undeniable. Rachel Berry was always going to find Quinn Fabray this way... and fall ridiculously in love with her. Rachel's never really thought about fate beyond the abstract notion she's identified in children's stories, but she definitely believes it now.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," Quinn eventually says. "Traitor."

Rachel just shakes her head, and then leads the way across the street to Luisano's, which is a neat little place. It's different to Juniper's in its colour scheme and general ambiance. While Juniper's is calm, almost mellow; Luisano's is vibrant and loud. Worrying her bottom lip, Rachel casts a nervous look Quinn's way, silently searching her face for her thoughts on the place.

The fact that she looks calm eases some of Rachel's worries.

At the counter, Rachel orders a Blackened Tempeh Salad With Chipotle Ranch, and Quinn, citing a craving, orders a Red Lentil and Bacon Soup. Rachel can't help her grin as they pay for their separate meals - Rachel isn't even going to delude herself into thinking she could pay for Quinn's meal - and then find a table.

"Once thing you should know about me," Quinn says, settling into her chair; "I consider bacon to be its own food group."

Rachel chuckles softly, trying her best not to be amazed by the fact that she's about to have lunch with Quinn Fabray. With her Pretty Girl. Sure, it's not the same as if Quinn were to know she's Little Star, but they're building up to that. "I shall take note of that." Her tone comes out a little too serious, and Quinn gives her a puzzled look... which is just adorable.

Wow.

Rachel has it bad.

"I've been meaning to ask," Quinn says; "how are things going with Santana?"

Rachel sighs. "Terribly."

Quinn raises her eyebrows. "Oh?"

"She's convinced that I'm... different, and we spend most of our time together bickering about why that could be," she admits, absently holding her breath in hope that she hasn't given away too much. This part is stressful. She almost wishes that Quinn found out first, just so _she_ would have to deal with this. Though, she's a little terrified of how Quinn might have handled the situation. Rachel understands that Quinn would do just about anything to keep her sexuality a secret, and she's worried about where she's going to fit into it all when and if it becomes public.

"Santana's a little psycho sometimes," Quinn says. "She's so convinced _I'm_ hiding something that she's taken to showing up at my house unannounced. My parents are severely unimpressed." Her voice grows quiet near the end of her sentence, and Rachel can't help her worry. Pretty Girl hasn't offered much more about her parental situation, and she wonders if something has happened in the last few days.

"Are you okay?" Rachel asks, her voice gentle and unassuming.

Quinn clears her throat, smiling somewhat convincingly. "Do you ever wonder about the future?" she asks.

"All the time."

"Does it scare you?"

"Sometimes," she admits. "The... unknown can be terrifying."

"It can," Quinn agrees, and then removes her phone from her pocket. For a moment, Rachel panics at the idea that her phone isn't on silent, but then all she feels is the vibration of an incoming text against her leg. "Sorry about that," Quinn says, putting away her phone; "just have to send an update."

Rachel can't stop herself. "On?"

Quinn mulls it over. "I guess on how my day's going."

"And how is it going?" she asks, her own fingers itching to check her phone.

"Well," Quinn says. "Really well. The puppies are adorable; I don't know how they haven't all been adopted already."

"It's my understanding that Lima's animal population is too large for the town's willing population."

Quinn sighs. "It's sad, isn't it?"

The last thing Rachel wants to do is put a dampener on what is supposed to be a good, fun day for Quinn, so she steers them away. "Well, that's where the volunteers like you and I come in," she says. "I reckon we're the lucky ones, I'm telling you."

"I can believe that."

When their food arrives, they fall into easy conversation about... women and gay rights, and Rachel tries to explain just how much her fathers love Elton John. Quinn laughs with ease, and Rachel can practically feel the blonde warming up to her more and more. They already have a certain dynamic within the walls of Juniper's - with or without Kurt - and Rachel is determined for Quinn to see that they can exist outside in the world as well.

Rachel's going to need all the tricks in the book to ensure she doesn't mess this up.

She knows she would never survive if Quinn were to run.

* * *

"Hey," Quinn says, catching Rachel's attention at the end of the day. When the brunette turns, Quinn awkwardly throws a thumb over her shoulder. "I'm heading out," she says.

"Oh, cool," Rachel says, smiling at her. "I hope you had fun."

"I did," she says. "I think I'll be doing it again someday soon."

"Oh, yeah?"

Quinn nods. Then: "Maybe you could let me know when you're here next, and we could, uh, do it together?"

Rachel desperately wants to kiss her, but she forces herself to nod through the swell of emotion threatening to lodge itself in her throat. "I'd really like that, Quinn."

Quinn's smile is infectious. She playfully salutes, says her goodbye, and then leaves.

Rachel can only watch her go, knowing without a doubt that 'Rachel and Quinn' have taken steps forward in solidifying their friendship. Little Star and Pretty Girl would be proud.

* * *

**Little Star: Hah, beat you to it.**

**Little Star: I want to know EVERYTHING.**

* * *

**GoldStarRBB** : Hello. How are you? How was your day?

 **GoldStarRBB** : So, how did it go? I'm serious here... tell me everything.

 **SkySplits94** : It was amazing. I've never seen so many cute things in one place before, and I wanted to adopt ALL of them. Derek found me especially hilarious when I said goodbye. I'm going to go back, I swear.

 **SkySplits94** : With you, preferably.

 **GoldStarRBB** : I think that can be arranged.

 **SkySplits94** : Oh yeah?

 **GoldStarRBB** : I'm working on it.

 **GoldStarRBB** : I'm just glad and relieved to know the day wasn't a complete disaster.

 **SkySplits94** : I loved everything about it. Even if I'm convinced that I may or may not be coughing up a fur ball some time tonight.

 **GoldStarRBB** : And you call me the dramatic one.

 **SkySplits94** : You ARE the dramatic one. Thank you, though. I had a great time today, and I really needed the pleasant distraction.

 **GoldStarRBB** : Did you have a favourite?

 **SkySplits94** : There was a little Boxer named Aldo that I was quite fond of, and there was another Border Collie called Apollo that was especially friendly. Do you know either of them?

 **GoldStarRBB** : I believe I do. I love Boxers.

 **SkySplits94** : Beagles and Jack Russells are my favourites.

 **GoldStarRBB** : I shall take note of that.

 **GoldStarRBB** : Quinn?

 **GoldStarRBB** : Pretty Girl?

 **SkySplits94** : Oh, sorry, yeah, just got lost for a second there.

 **SkySplits94** : Well well well, are you planning on adopting a dog for us, Little Star?

 **GoldStarRBB** : Is that something you would be against?

 **SkySplits94** : I haven't given it much thought. I didn't really have pets growing up (they were considered a distraction), and I just know that I have to get out of this place. Maybe in the future. After college, when we're living together.

 **SkySplits94** : Shit.

 **SkySplits94** : Is that too much?

 **GoldStarRBB** : I think that sounds perfect.

 **GoldStarRBB** : Do you really think we'll be living together one day?

 **SkySplits94** : That depends. Do you snore?

 **GoldStarRBB** : Not according to my family, so I think you're safe.

 **SkySplits94** : Then I see no reason why we wouldn't. Is that something you would be against?

 **GoldStarRBB** : Oh, Pretty Girl. You should know by now that I can't wait until I get to experience all kinds of firsts with you.

 **SkySplits94** : Starting with your first girl kiss, huh?

 **GoldStarRBB** : STARTING. Yes.

 **GoldStarRBB** : I have so much more planned.

 **SkySplits94** : I so want into your mind of dirty fantasies.

 **SkySplits94** : I so want into other things too.

 **GoldStarRBB** : That good little schoolgirl persona you sometimes portray is SO wrong.

 **SkySplits94** : I can be a good girl.

 **SkySplits94** : Just, sometimes, I don't want to.

 **SkySplits94** : Sometimes, I want my fingers on naked flesh and my tongue licking a trail down to wet heat.

 **GoldStarRBB** : OH MY GOD.

 **SkySplits94** : Thank you, and goodnight.

 **GoldStarRBB** : No. NO. You don't get to just type that and leave.

 **SkySplits94** : Why? Are you hot and bothered?

 **SkySplits94** : Just so you know... that titbit was NOTHING compared to what I could do to you.

 **GoldStarRBB** : Wow. Someone definitely had a good day, huh?

 **SkySplits94** : It was the best. I wish you could have been there.

 **GoldStarRBB** : Me too.

 **SkySplits94** : Soon?

 **GoldStarRBB** : Sooner than you think.

 **SkySplits94** : I'm going to hold you to that.

 **GoldStarRBB** : I would expect nothing else.

 **SkySplits94** : Goodnight, my little star Xx

 **SkySplits94** : I love you.

 **GoldStarRBB** : Goodnight, my pretty girl :*

 **GoldStarRBB** : I love you, too.

* * *

.

* * *

**XIV**

Rachel's plan to befriend Quinn falls into fruition much easier than she first anticipated. It helps that Quinn is receptive to the idea of their budding friendship, and it's even starting to filter out of Juniper's and into the school corridors.

Which, in hindsight, is always going to result in some form of trouble.

It starts with Kurt, who has to remind Rachel to 'be careful.' And then there's Finn, who's just confused as to why Rachel would _ever_ want to hang out with Quinn. Rachel still harbours a healthy amount of guilt when it comes to him, so she tries not to be too harsh. But, frankly, who she 'hangs out with' has absolutely nothing to do with him, and she very clearly tells him that. The fact that she's in love with Quinn Fabray is probably going to hurt him enough.

The school itself buzzes about it, but Quinn doesn't seem to care. Rachel finds that the blonde actually _wants_ to spend time with her, arriving at Juniper's much too early, and even coming in on days when she's not even supposed to be meeting Kurt.

Rachel should read the signs.

She should see the warnings, but her alarm goes off much too late and, by then, the damage is done.

* * *

"I swear that phone of yours is like an appendage," Santana snarks, and Rachel immediately snaps to attention, as if she's been burned. Santana smirks. "I thought you were the one who wanted to get this done tonight, so we can work on editing for the last week before hand-in."

"Right," Rachel says, forcing herself to put her phone away without replying to Pretty Girl. One day, Quinn will forgive her for this because, really, she's going to deserve some kind of medal for having put up with Santana Lopez as much as she has. Mr Pope is definitely going to have to give her extra credit or something.

"Who are you texting anyway?" Santana asks, and Rachel tenses. "Ooh, is it a secret lover?"

Rachel rolls her eyes. "I do not have a _lover_ ," she says, and the truth of it is clear for them both to hear. She needs Santana to drop the subject, which, thankfully, she does, and the two of them are able to get back to the final checks on their first draft of their paper. After this, they'll go through copious editing, and then they'll hand in, and have exactly two days to create and prepare a _PowerPoint_ presentation on the topic.

It's a good thing Rachel is a master of the _PowerPoint_.

"I still think we should take out this entire section," Santana says, pointing at the screen of Rachel's laptop. "It's unnecessary and redundant. I wouldn't want to read it once, let alone twice, just in other words, as if you've just vomited a fucking thesaurus."

Rachel sighs. "I can understand what you're trying to say," she says diplomatically; "but Mr Pope did make a note that there were aspects about this particular topic he didn't understand. Maybe, instead of chopping it completely, you can help me rework it to make it come across clearer?"

"Yeah, no, I'm not going to do that," Santana says, looking completely unfazed. "Just cut the shit out and save us some time."

Rachel growls low in her throat and closes her eyes to hold onto what little bit of sanity she has. She _will not_ explode on Santana Lopez. No, she won't. That would be giving the infuriating Latina exactly what she wants, and Rachel won't give her the satisfaction.

Not today, at least.

* * *

"There she is," Santana suddenly says, and her entirely face transforms into something _soft_. It's amazing for Rachel to see, and she has to lean back to take it in at face value. A Santana Lopez who's in love looks very different. Almost human.

Rachel's gaze follows Santana's, and her smile widens when she sees Quinn walking with Brittany. Rachel's blonde quirks an eyebrow at her, seemingly surprised by the reaction. Rachel blushes hotly, and ducks her head to hide it. God, she's pathetic. She's just... the worst.

"I see you haven't killed each other," Quinn says, coming to a stop at the edge of their table. She taps her fingers on the tabletop, and Rachel stares at them for the longest time, imagining them doing _things_.

"The day isn't over," Santana grumbles, and Brittany moves to sit in her lap.

Quinn drags her fingers along the table, and turns the page of Rachel's notebook. "Why are you so neat?" she asks, almost in wonderment. Then: "Are those stars?"

Rachel rolls her shoulders, swallowing nervously. "I don't know how not to be neat," she confesses, attempting to distract Quinn.

Quinn hums in thought, and bends to look at Rachel's laptop screen, leaning in entirely too close. "Is this it?"

"Our final paper?"

She nods.

Rachel absently scrolls down the page. "The first draft, yeah," she explains. "We're having a few disagreements about the editing though."

Quinn grins. "Disagreements, huh?"

"I'm afraid the gloves are starting to come off," she says, shuddering. "Will you make sure my body is returned to my dads?"

Quinn laughs softly, and the sound is pure magic. Rachel wants to lean into her, inhale her scent, kiss her and just love her. It would be so easy. She's right there. _Right there_. As if she can feel the intensity of Rachel's gaze, Quinn's eyes meet hers, locking on and _staying_. The smile slips from Quinn's face slowly, as a certain intensity settles into the moment.

Rachel blinks first. Maybe this whole _friend_ thing is getting a little out of control.

If Rachel finds it weird that Quinn doesn't really mention _her_ to Little Star, she tries not to think about it. It's happened twice, but only in passing. Pretty Girl mentioned that she was making new friends; that Mr Pope's English project was allowing her the opportunity to interact with people she wouldn't normally associate with. She's never mentioned any names, and Rachel can't determine if that's a good or a bad thing.

Santana clears her throat, eyeing the pair of them quizzically. She doesn't look happy at all, but Rachel's ignoring it. Santana doesn't really wear _happy_ well, anyway.

Quinn says nothing as she rises up, straightening her back. "Are you two done?" she asks, a slight whine in her voice. "We have things to do."

Santana chuckles darkly. "Oh, Fabray, Berry here and I have been done since the beginning."

Quinn glances at Rachel, who merely shrugs. "I'll make sure your body gets back to your fathers," she says with a wicked grin, and Rachel is left to wonder how she's ever supposed to survive the day that Quinn _actually_ flirts with her.

Whatever happens to her then, at least her body will be safe.

* * *

_Pretty Girl: Hi, baby. I know I never do this, but I won't be able to go online tonight. Life has just got crazy busy, and practice is taking over my life. I'm really sorry, but I'll dedicate extra time tomorrow... if you'll have me, that is._

**Little Star: Of course I'll have you.**

**Little Star: Be safe, all right. I'll be thinking of you.**

_Pretty Girl: I'll be thinking about you too. And I love you. Xx_

**Little Star: I love you too :***

* * *

.

* * *

**XV**

Rachel knows something is deathly wrong the moment she steps out of class and into the corridor. There's chatter all around, and she feels a wave of foreboding descend on her in the ugliest way. Keeping her head down, she walks to the cafeteria with the intention of talking to Kurt. He'll know exactly the right thing to say to make her paranoia dissipate.

But.

That feeling grows exponentially when she enters the cafeteria to find an endless number of students hovering around Santana, who's perched on the edge of a table, reading out loud from a wad of papers. The Latina looks deathly amused by something, and Rachel can't help the sudden wave of apprehension she feels. What the -

"What's going on?" Rachel asks nobody in particular.

"Rachel," Kurt suddenly says, immediately moving to stand in front of her with a pained look on his face. He's almost shielding her.

"What's wrong?" she asks him, concerned over his expression. "Are you not feeling well?"

His expression doesn't let up. In fact, he goes a bit green when there's a bout of laughter from where Santana is seated, and Rachel's eyes immediately look in her direction. If she's surprised to find the Latina looking at her, she does her best not to show it.

"Kurt," Rachel says calmly. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Where is your phone?" he forces out, his voice strained.

"What?" she asks, absently patting her pockets for her phone. When she doesn't find it, she searches her bag. Nothing. She goes through a mental checklist of all the places she's had it in the last few hours and, when the very realisation that someone must have _taken_ it hits her, it's too late.

Because, once again, Santana is speaking.

"Oh, this is the best," Santana says, laughing. And, when she reads the words from the page, Rachel feels her blood run cold. "Little Star says: 'Well, I'm very proud of my legs. And, everything else, really. Except my nose. That is another story entirely.' And this Pretty Girl says: 'I'm just relieved my girlfriend isn't a toad.'"

There's laughter all around them, and Rachel feels as if she's dying. It's the only explanation really, because the very breath has left her body; the panic, sheer terror and absolute horror keeping her paralysed.

Santana continues reading out loud, her smirk firmly on her face as she acknowledges Rachel with cold, calculated eyes. Rachel wants to cry, maybe hide away somewhere for the rest of her miserable life, because this isn't happening. It can't be happening.

All Rachel can do is stand there and listen to Santana make a mockery of her profound conversations with Pretty Girl, and there's nothing she can think to do. What can she do? By stepping up, she would be owning up to the messages being half hers, which is probably what Santana wants. This is the sadist in Santana coming out to play, clearly enjoying Rachel's misery. Because, no; there is no way Rachel is going to step into that crowd and demand Santana stop, and both girls know it.

Hell, even Kurt knows it.

Still, it's when Rachel hears a notable gasp behind her that everything, once again, grinds to a stop. She spins around quickly, immediately coming face to face with Quinn Fabray's look of utter devastation. The blonde is pale, her eyes wide, as she catches onto what Santana is reading. It's the first time Rachel actually notices that there are pages and pages of screenshots of her conversations with Pretty Girl floating around the cafeteria. Some are even tacked to the walls.

"Quinn," Rachel's mouth says, but no sounds actually come out.

Quinn just stares at Santana, hearing the words, and just knowing. Her paleness is enough of an indicator to Rachel that Quinn is five seconds away from the ultimate panic. No, no, no.

Rachel takes a tentative step towards Quinn, somehow knowing she has to be closer to her. Quinn doesn't yet know the truth, and Rachel hopes she'll be allowed to explain before the entire school figures out that Rachel Berry is gay for Quinn Fabray.

Sucking in another breath when there's laughter, Quinn slowly backs away.

"Quinn," Rachel says, finally making her voice work.

The blonde's eyes flash towards her. There's a long moment of confusion, but the recognition never comes. She doesn't _know_ , and Rachel is at least grateful for that small mercy. Rachel notes the hesitation in Quinn's body, obviously torn between retreating completely or facing the internal humiliation head-on.

This is something Santana is going to use over Rachel, because the last thing she wants is for Quinn to find out like this. They're not ready. They shouldn't have to deal with any of this until they _are_ ready. Santana is forcing their hand, and Rachel isn't sure how she's supposed to proceed.

Rachel opens her mouth once more, intending to say something, anything, to comfort Quinn, but her words are stolen by the quiet sob Quinn releases. It's barely audible, but Rachel sees it, and it's heartbreaking beyond comprehension. Maybe, some day, Rachel might have found a way to forgive Santana for this, but she'll never forgive her for what it's done to Quinn.

How dare she?

Quinn stumbles backwards, and then turns and bolts. Rachel knows she needs to go after her, but Kurt places a hand on her shoulder to stop her. She turns to look at him with incredulous eyes. "I can't - "

Kurt shakes his head. "Santana is looking."

Rachel grits her teeth and turns her body to face the Latina full on. She straightens her spine and walks towards the cheerleader, her eyes narrowed and her features hardened. How fucking dare she?

Rachel can feel Kurt at her side, which is all the support she needs.

Before Rachel can even open her mouth, Kurt is speaking. "There are things that are not okay," he says. "We put up with everything else, but even I expected that you of all people would know not to force anyone out of the closet."

Santana glares at him. "Are you trying to tell me you know who either of these two girls are?" she asks with faux innocence, and it makes Rachel feel sick.

Kurt shakes his head in disgust, and turns away.

Santana turns her attention to a seething Rachel. "Got something to say, Berry?" she asks, looking utterly chuffed with herself. "Because, if you don't, I do believe there's a section out of _our_ paper you have to cut out."

Rachel shakes her head in disbelief. "I don't know why I believed you'd be any different to what I'm seeing right now," she says, keeping her voice low. "I suppose, I thought, given how great and lovely Quinn and Brittany are, they _must_ see something in you, but I was clearly wrong. You're exactly who you said you were, so it's my fault, really." She swallows audibly. "I don't really care that you may or may not have outed me, but - " she stops suddenly. "God, you have absolutely no idea what you've done. You have no idea, at all." And then she walks away.

She needs to find Quinn.

* * *

Rachel doesn't find Quinn.

* * *

Rachel is tempted - sorely tempted - to go to Quinn's house to see her, but she's unsure how she's supposed to spin that... particularly seeing as Santana still hasn't released any details about the two girls in the texts. Santana knows one identity for sure, and she's certain the Latina wouldn't have done any of this if she knew the other one was Quinn. Whatever dark and twisted prank this is; even Rachel knows she wouldn't have done it if she knew her best friend is involved. Maybe she used only early texts because Rachel's _sure_ she's referred to Quinn by her name.

Or maybe that's only the chat room.

Rachel can't exactly message Quinn because she doesn't have her phone. She tried logging onto a computer at school, but she wasn't even sure what to say or even if Quinn would check it. SkySplits94 wasn't online, and Rachel can't shake the sinking feeling that she's never going to see her online ever again. After she temporarily locks her phone through the online service, ensuring Santana can't access anything more, she starts typing.

* * *

 **GoldStarRBB** : Quinn. Baby. I don't know if you'll get this, but I just need you to know I had nothing to do with this. My phone was stolen, and they found our messages and, God, I am SO sorry. I am so so sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen. Please. Please don't leave.

 **GoldStarRBB** : I love you. I love you so much. I made a promise to you, and I've kept it, and will continue to do so. I promise to keep your secret, and I intend to do so. I'm afraid, by doing that, you're going to find out who I am. Just, please don't run. Please.

 **GoldStarRBB** : I'm sorry. I am so sorry, Quinn.

 **GoldStarRBB** : I love you.

* * *

This is it, isn't it?

Quinn _is_ going to run. It's too real now, and her secret is this close to being found out.

Oh, God.

Rachel can barely catch her breath, and it's a bloody miracle that she makes it to Juniper's for her shift without totalling her car.

* * *

Oliver wastes no time getting Rachel's attention when he arrives at Juniper's. She's a distracted mess, being forced to acknowledge that Quinn probably, definitely, isn't going to be coming to the cafe as originally planned. Forcing a smile through her growing devastation, she serves Oliver his beer and a slice of fudge. The man must sense her severity because he doesn't attempt to engage her in conversation... for only the first five minutes.

When he does start speaking, he doesn't ask any questions.

"Love is a fickle thing," he says. "Can't live with it; can't live without it."

Rachel breathes out slowly. "Which would you rather have?" she asks.

"With," he says with zero hesitation. "Definitely, _with_. Life just makes so much more sense when you're in love."

"What happens when you're not?"

"Chaos," he says.

Rachel nods because, yeah, that's exactly what this feels like.

Complete and utter _chaos_.

* * *

When Kurt arrives, he looks both sympathetic and pissed off. Rachel can barely look him in the eye because, yes, her dirty laundry has been spread around school in all the worst ways. Everyone is going to read her deepest thoughts; her secrets. It's heartbreaking and terrifying, and she breaks down completely when Kurt wraps his arms around her. Ignoring the looks of their patrons, and Juniper and Marty, he leads her into the back of the kitchen and just holds her.

This was never how it was supposed to be. Rachel had it all planned. There was a 'Big Reveal' in the works, and she even enlisted the help of Kurt, Derek, Lorna, Apollo and Aldo. This entire day has just thrown that all out the window.

Rachel clutches onto Kurt's shirt, wrinkling the fabric. "Is she okay?" she asks, her voice catching.

"She sent me a message an hour ago," he explains quietly. "Said she wasn't feeling well, and she wasn't going to make it tonight. I tried to offer... something, but - " he stops, suddenly unsure what he's going to say. "I don't even know how to make this better, Rachel. For either of you. I don't know what to do. What do I do? What can I do?"

She has no answers for him, or for herself, so she just buries her face in the crook of his neck and cries for all the ways everything is falling apart.

"I just don't understand," he says after a long while. "Quinn is a literal genius. How could she _not_ know it's you?"

Rachel shifts slightly, wiping at her eyes. "Maybe, at some level, she does," she says. "Subconsciously, probably. I think her brain is just refusing to make the link, to protect her or something. I know, when I figured it out, I couldn't believe how I missed it. I suspect it'll be the same for her."

Kurt manages a smile. "I can't wait to tease you both about this," he says softly... but they both _know_. If there's one thing the two of them are absolutely certain about: it's only a matter of time now.

Before Rachel's officially outed.

Before Quinn learns she's Little Star.

Before Quinn really hates her.

Before Rachel hates herself.

* * *

When Kurt's shift starts, Rachel manages to pull herself together enough to give off the impression that she _isn't_ completely falling apart. Even though she is. She splashes her face with ice cold water, smoothes down her hair, and then packs up her things to leave. She places a grateful kiss against Kurt's cheek, tells Juniper not to worry, and then heads home. She knows her fathers won't be there, which is both a disappointment and a relief. She wants their comfort, but she also doesn't want to have to explain herself.

Rachel thinks she's cried enough for one day but, on the way home, the tears start up again. She's forced to pull over to calm herself, and then finally makes her way home. She's exhausted and hurting, and she has no idea what she's supposed to do to fix this for Quinn and for herself. It takes a full fifteen minutes, but she's able to get back on the road. She has a plan.

She'll get home and force herself to -

Okay, so whatever plan she thinks she may or may have gets completely derailed the second she pulls into the driveway.

Because, well, Quinn Fabray is right there, standing on her porch, and clearly waiting for her.


	10. XVI, XVII

**XVI**

Rachel doesn't immediately get out of her car. She rather just stays seated, her hands gripping the steering wheel tightly in a vain attempt to draw on some courage from... somewhere.

Anywhere, really.

She's not ready for this.

She's not ready for any of it.

Steeling herself, Rachel forces herself to get out of her car. Her movements are slow and laboured as she retrieves her bag from the trunk, and then makes her way towards the front porch. She waits until the last possible moment to look at Quinn, and it takes her exactly zero-point-seven seconds to realise Quinn still doesn't _know_.

So, what is she doing here?

"Quinn," Rachel's mouth says without her permission. "What are you doing here?" It's _so_ not the question she wants to ask, or even the words she wants to say, but it's too late now. It's out there, and there's no taking it back.

Quinn glides out from the shadows, and Rachel gasps at the sight of her. Her eyes are bloodshot and puffy, the creases in her forehead prominent, and her bottom lip is trembling. "I - " she nervously starts. "I didn't know where else to go."

Rachel sucks in a shaky breath, stepping up onto the porch and forcing her legs not to buckle as she moves closer to the front door. She has the scary thought of inviting Quinn inside, but that just seems like a terrible idea. She can barely handle her responses to Quinn in public; why would she handle a private conversation any better?

"And, before you ask me what that means, I really don't know," Quinn mumbles, and Rachel feels her heart constrict at the obvious emotion in her voice. "I just - I've had the worst day, and you - you're the only person I wanted to see." She rubs her face with her hands. "What does that _mean_?"

Rachel has no response for her because, dammit, what is she supposed to say? _Can_ she just tell her that _she's_ Little Star? Can she just do that, and the two of them can talk it out and deal with it together?

No.

She's not ready for the aftermath of _that_ truth. She doesn't think either of them is ready, and it's the only truth she'll be telling herself tonight, because she too has to protect herself from what the revelation would mean for the both of them.

"Rachel?" Quinn whispers, and the silence that follows is heavy with tension and unexplained emotion. "Are you - " she starts, and stops. "You can't - " Quinn shakes her head. "I would know. I _should_ know." She just looks so lost and confused, and all Rachel wants to do is make it better, but she doesn't know how to do that without making it worse first.

Rachel doesn't know if she's brave enough to face that yet.

Quinn wrings her fingers together, her eyes looking to the right, as if she's searching for something, anything. Whatever she's looking for, she must find it, because she starts moving towards Rachel, her hazel eyes locked on chestnut brown. "I'm supposed to know," she murmurs, and it's all the warning Rachel gets before Quinn is in her space. Even though Quinn hasn't even touched her, Rachel can _feel_ her practically everywhere.

"Can I?" Quinn asks, and neither of them is sure what she's asking.

Regardless, Rachel nods, and then Quinn is wrapping her arms around her, drawing her into the type of hug that speaks volumes and volumes of - what?

Rachel doesn't know. She hears and feels Quinn inhale deeply, and the blonde's body relaxes into hers. It feels as if the world has stopped spinning, and Rachel has never felt so dismantled or _settled_ in her entire life. This is all she's ever wanted, and yet it doesn't feel as if it's hers to take. At this point, it doesn't belong to her. This feeling is supposed to belong to Little Star, and it's the moment Rachel knows she's messed everything up.

By trying to be Quinn's friend first, she's fucked up.

She's confused Quinn.

She's confused them both.

She's -

 _Oh_.

It's soft; barely there, but Rachel feels it.

It's just the slightest press of lips to the skin of her neck, and her sharp intake of breath has Quinn suddenly jerking back, a hand covering her mouth.

"Oh, my God," she says, stumbling back. "Rachel," she squeaks, eyes blinking rapidly. "I'm so sorry. I'm - sorry - just - _fuck_."

Rachel reaches out to hold onto her; just to keep her _here_ , but Quinn is already backing away, her mask slipping into place. There's just so much _pain_ behind those eyes, and it's heartbreaking. Everything about this is just _wrong_. This was never how it was supposed to be.

"I'm sorry," Quinn says again. "Please don't - I don't - I'm not - "

"Quinn," Rachel whispers, pleading in her voice.

"I have to go," Quinn says. "I don't - I have _no idea_ what I'm doing. What am I doing? God, what is _happening_?"

"Stay," Rachel says. "We'll figure it out, okay? Just, stay. We'll figure it out together."

Quinn shakes her head. "There's nothing to figure out, Rachel," she says, sounding surer than she has all night. "I _would_ know. It doesn't make any sense for me to be standing here, right here, with _you_ , and not know."

Rachel's eyes pool with tears, and she wants to scream is _it's me; I'm right here_ , but the words won't come.

"I have to go," Quinn says again and, this time, Rachel doesn't protest.

She _does_ hear Quinn's parting words, which are said so softly that she doubts they're meant for her ears anyway.

 _You're not her, and she's not you_.

 _One of you would have told me_.

* * *

Rachel calls Kurt the moment she enters the house after Quinn leaves. _She_ can barely make out what she's saying to him because she's crying so much, but he must figure out what she needs because he arrives at the Berry home just fifteen minutes later, having told Juniper that it was a family emergency.

Technically, it is. Rachel is his family, and she obviously needs him.

Kurt finds Rachel pacing the length of the living room, looking almost rabid. "Rachel," he starts, worried. She looks manic, her hands flailing and tears streaming down her cheeks as the reality of what's happening hits her in droves. "Rachel?"

She snaps her head towards him, stopping her pacing. "I did it all wrong, Kurt," she says, obvious strain in her voice. "Quinn was here when I got home. She was _here_ , and she came to see _me_ , and not _Little Star_."

It takes him a moment to catch onto what she's trying to tell him. "Oh."

"Definitely, oh," she says, laughing humourlessly. "She's so confused by all of this, and _I_ did that. I keep doing that, and I don't know how to make any of this better. I don't know what to say or do to protect her, and to protect myself, and she's going to hate me. She's going to hate me, Kurt, and she's going to want nothing to do with me, and I don't know how I'm supposed to survive any of that.

"I love her. I love her _so much_ , and just the thought of not having her _hurts_. It physically hurts. But I don't see how I'm supposed to get us both out of this. I don't see how Quinn and I come out of this happy and unscathed." She screams in frustration. "This is all just some complicated mess, and I don't know what I'm supposed to do." She throws him a helpless look. "I did it all wrong, Kurt," she says again, and she resumes her pacing. "I've done everything wrong from the very beginning. I mean, how did _I_ manage to fall in love with the single worst person for me in history? How? How did I manage to do that?

"And fucking Santana!" she hisses. "If this was what Mr Pope wanted from this stupid, damn project, then he got it. That girl is literally _ruining_ my life, and she's attempting to take the love of my life down with me. I mean, what is she _thinking_? Is she even thinking? What does she expect to happen? We're supposed to be working on the project together. She can't _blackmail_ me into making the changes she wants to.

"Why am I even worried about that? I should be worried about Quinn. What am I going to do about Quinn, Kurt? How do I make it better? Is there even any way of fixing it? Im - I'm terrified of what she'll do if anyone figures out she's Pretty Girl. God, what would her _parents_ do?"

Kurt waits a few moments to ensure she's ended her rant, and he gingerly raises his right hand, getting her attention. "So, I may or may not have an idea," he says.

Rachel's eyes widen. "I'm listening."

He clears his throat. "Just, first, did you mean that?"

"Mean what?"

"Quinn Fabray is the love of your life?"

Rachel gives pause, replaying her own words. "Yes, Kurt," she eventually says. "I do believe she is."

"Good," he says; "because I think you're hers as well."

* * *

Even though she's sure Quinn won't be there, Rachel still goes online at the scheduled time. There are a few things she needs to reiterate. There are a few things she needs to say repeatedly, before the truth comes out. Quinn needs to know before that happens, and Rachel can only hope and pray that it's enough.

* * *

 **GoldStarRBB** : I really hope you get this. I have your number memorised, and I know that I could call you or use someone else's phone to message you, but I don't know how much good that'll do. I just have to tell you something, okay? I know you're probably freaking out right now, but you're safe. I'm going to make sure you stay that way.

 **GoldStarRBB** : So, tomorrow, I'm going to do something. Well, first I'm going to talk to you - warn you - and then I'm going to do something. I'm going to prove to you that I never meant for any of this to happen, and you're going to find out who I am in the process. I'll take the heat, okay? Just me. Only me.

 **GoldStarRBB** : I promised I would protect you, and I intend to do that. I didn't mean for any of this to happen. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

 **GoldStarRBB** : Quinn, I am so sorry.

 **GoldStarRBB** : I love you.

 **GoldStarRBB** : I love you so much.

* * *

.

* * *

**XVII**

By the morning, Rachel is calmer than she thought possible. She's not sure how or why that could be when she's been put through the emotional ringer in the past few days - which is bound to get worse - but she has a plan. Well, she and Kurt have a plan. She knows what she's going to do to fix this great big mess she's managed to create for herself - with Santana's unsolicited help, of course - and she's determined to see it through.

So what if the entire school is going to learn that she's Little Star, and that she likes girls?

Hah.

Rachel is quiet at breakfast, and her fathers definitely notice. She can feel their eyes on her, and they keep exchanging significant looks with each other. She knows she _should_ tell them what's happening, but she's unsure how to go about it.

Eventually, her tact falls away, and she blurts it out: "All of Lima is probably going to know that I like girls by the end of the day."

LeRoy's eyes widen and Hiram gasps.

"What?!"

Rachel clears her throat, and proceeds to explain the situation as best she can. She leaves nothing out. Particularly the part where Quinn was here. Quinn was here for _Rachel_ , and that part is probably the most delicate and complicated. The aftermath of this 'Rachel is Little Star' revelation isn't going to bode well for neither Rachel nor Little Star. That doesn't even matter right now, anyway.

"We'll have her expelled," Hiram finally says, indignant and determined. "That Lopez girl has always made your life hell."

Rachel sighs. She and Kurt debated over what to do with Santana for what felt like hours. He was firmly in the Hiram camp when it came to expulsion, but Rachel doesn't want to ruin her life. They're so close to graduation, and this kind of thing could derail her entire career. It just seems like too much for whatever reason. She's too soft and kind and forgiving, apparently.

Rachel didn't say she was going to do _nothing_. She just said no to expulsion.

"I'm going to take care of it," Rachel says, and there's a finality to her tone of voice that stumps both her fathers. "Speaking of, I have to go," she says. "I have an early meeting with Mr Pope."

Rachel's already run the idea by her teacher, but he wants to discuss the implications with her properly. By _choosing_ not to meet the complete project brief, she's risking a failing grade. Frankly, she doesn't care. She'll make it up in other places. She'll take the penalty if it means she won't have to work with Santana Lopez anymore. And, really, she's looking forward to the look on Santana's face when she realises she's in the same boat. Rachel has already changed the document settings on Google Drive to lock her out, and she's always the one taking the notes for their project.

Just the thought of Santana scrambling to pull something together for their project in such a short time brings a smile to her face.

Which lasts all of two minutes after she walks out of her meeting with Mr Pope. She was forced to explain that she really _cannot_ work with Santana anymore, which prompted her first 'coming out.' To his credit, he was fine with _that_ part, and suitably horrified by the fact that Santana would do such a thing. He offered to add on his own punishment, because it didn't seem fair that Rachel had to suffer as well, and she left it to his discretion. She's beyond caring about that, at this point.

Kurt meets her at her locker, a steaming cup of coffee in each hand. She smiles gratefully when he hands one to her.

"Have you heard from Quinn at all?" she asks him.

"Nothing," he says. "She's too academically minded, though, so it's only a matter of time before she channels her angst into her work. For all I know, she's going to send a text saying the entire thing it done and all I have to do is read through it one final time."

Rachel sighs. "Does that mean you'll help me with mine?"

"Of course, Honey."

Rachel sips at her coffee, just waiting. She's unsure what this day is going to bring from people who _aren't_ her, so she's just going to wait and see.

It happens a few minutes later, when Quinn and Brittany arrive in the corridor, sans Santana. The blondes have their arms linked, neither of them talking, eyes firmly forward. Quinn looks as pristine as ever, but Rachel knows her well enough to tell that her eyes are conflicted. Quinn doesn't even acknowledge Rachel or Kurt as they walk past, and Rachel tries not to feel hurt by it. She _knows_ why it's like this, but it doesn't make it any easier to accept.

Kurt pats her shoulder. "If it's like this _now_ ; just imagine what it's going to be like when she actually _knows_."

She scowls at him. "You're not helping."

He shrugs. "So, I managed to get Finn to convince some of his teammates to find all those screenshots Santana printed out," he says. "All pages have been recycled, never to be seen again."

She breathes out in some relief. "Thank you for doing that."

"Sure thing."

Rachel is just turning to retrieve the required books from her locker when she feels a presence on her right, and she looks over her shoulder at Santana Lopez, who looks thoroughly put out and deeply annoyed. "What do you want?" Rachel asks, her anger flaring. She doubts it will ever dissipate, so long as she never forgets the look on Quinn's face when Santana was mocking her Pretty Girl.

"An answer," she says.

"About what?"

"The paper."

Rachel shakes her head. "What you do with your paper is up to you," she says. "Keep it in or take it out, it's your decision."

Santana frowns. "What are you talking about?"

Rachel ignores her. "Where's my phone?"

"What?"

"Where is my phone? I want it back."

"You'll get it back when you tell me what the fuck you're talking about."

Rachel sets her coffee down in her locker and folds her arms across her chest. "I made myself perfectly clear, Santana. You are writing your own paper, and so am I. It's what you wanted, right? Not to have to work with me. Well, there you go, you've got your wish. Now, give me back my phone before I call the cops and have them search you for stolen property. I'm sure that would go _lovely_ on your transcript."

Santana glares at her. "I dare you."

"I wouldn't tempt me," Rachel says. "You took something of mine, something very very dear to me, and you perverted it. I am raging inside. Believe me. Calling the police is just _one_ of the things I've toyed with."

"Everyone will know," Santana says, as if it's enough.

"And I've come to accept that," she says primly because, yes, she has. "I've accepted that _you_ are responsible for dragging me out of the closet, but I would rather it be me than my girlfriend."

"Do you even know who she is?"

Rachel doesn't respond. "Give me my phone."

Grumbling, Santana digs in her bag and retrieves Rachel's phone. "Jesus, I don't know what the big fucking deal is," she says. "Nobody _knows_."

" _I_ know, and _she_ knows," Rachel hisses, letting her rage show. "Do you have _any_ idea what you've done?"

Santana's eyes widen slightly.

"Now, get out of my face," Rachel growls. "We're done here."

* * *

"Does this mean Quinn doesn't actually have to find out it's you?" Kurt asks as they walk into English.

"I don't know," Rachel confesses as she puts her dead phone away. _Stupid phone_. "As far as I know, only you, Santana and Mr Pope know for sure, and I'm not sure what that would all mean for me, you know? If people were really interested, which they are, and if they went through all the messages; maybe they would figure it out..."

"I wouldn't put it past Jacob Ben Israel."

Rachel groans. "If he figures out that it's _me_ , then fine, but I shudder to think of what he would have me do to keep Quinn out of it if he figures out that part," she says, actually shuddering.

"It's the talk of school, Rach," he says. "There's bound to be discussion."

"It's only a matter of time, huh?"

"Unfortunately, yes," he says. "There's an entire pool going on who the girls possibly are and, well, both your names have come up. This isn't just going to go away."

She sighs. "I'll - I'll talk to her at lunch."

* * *

Talking to Quinn about all of this has always been her first priority, but the second Mr Pope offers them the period to work on their projects, everything gets horribly and irreversibly derailed.

 _Everything_.

Because it's the first time Santana realises the true extent of the punishment Rachel has inflicted on them both. The highest they can respectively and possibly get for their papers is 60%, and that's only if they get a full 100%, and then take the 40% penalty for not meeting the brief and working in pairs. Mr Pope has offered Rachel the opportunity to make it up in other areas of the project, but the crux is that she's going to have to work extra hard if she intends not to fail.

Santana isn't offered any extra credit opportunities. She doesn't have access to the document, and she's made no notes. She barely paid attention during the few times she actually met up with Rachel, and now she has to write an entire paper on a topic she hasn't even properly explored, _by herself_. In five days.

It's safe to say the Latina isn't happy, and she all but blows up in Rachel's face. She takes a page out of Finn's book and kicks a few chairs before she's standing right in front of Rachel, _screaming right in her face_. Brittany and Quinn are trying to calm her, and she flails an elbow, smacking Quinn in the face. Before Rachel can make a move, Kurt is at Quinn's side, but Santana barely registers it; her focus on Rachel.

"Jesus Christ, all this because I took your phone and printed out a few of your stupid messages?" she shouts in anger, and the world stops.

It comes to a standstill, and Rachel can hear the blood rushing in her ears.

There are gasps all around, and Rachel feels the air get sucked right out of her lungs. She knew it was going to happen today, but it was supposed to happen a different way. She was supposed to tell Quinn _first_.

Oh, Quinn.

Rachel can barely bring herself to look to her left, but she can't resist. She sneaks a look, and Quinn is staring at her, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. She's in shock, that's clear, but there's something else.

Something _severe_.

Disbelief, heartbreak, _agony_.

Rachel's eyes snap back to Santana, who's also staring at her with wide, shocked eyes. Clearly, she's seen Rachel's eyes dart Quinn's way, and she _knows_.

"No?" Santana asks in disbelief, almost in a whisper.

"I told you," Rachel croaks out, suddenly feeling everything. "I _told_ you that you have no idea what you've done."

* * *

Santana ends up suspended, and Rachel ends up with an afternoon of detention. Apparently, it's just part of the principle of the entire confrontation, and both parties need to be punished in some capacity, even though Rachel did _nothing_. It's not as if the entire school now knows that Rachel Berry is Little Star, and she's gay and she has a secret girlfriend. Sure, let's just add insult to injury and tack on an undeserved detention.

Kurt is waiting for her when she gets out, and he wraps an arm around her shoulders as he leads her down the corridor in an attempt to shield her from prying eyes. There are people around, staring and whispering, and Rachel just wants to hide from the world for all of eternity. She _just_ managed to escape their taunts, and now _this_.

"Anything?" Rachel asks in a whisper when they get to her locker, the endless murmuring practically following her. It's ringing in her head.

"Nothing," he says. "She knows I know, so I doubt she'll be contacting me any time soon."

Rachel leans her head on the open door of her locker. "This is such a mess," she says, just as some random jock calls out: "Yo, Berry, you up for a threesome?"

There's a bout of snickering before a Cheerio says, "She'd have to _know_ who the other girl is first. I bet she doesn't even exist."

"Catfish!" someone else yells, and Rachel closes her eyes against the tears threatening to seep out.

Kurt rubs a slow circle on her back, shooting glares at all the students lingering. "I'm sorry it didn't work out the way you wanted," he says softly, soothingly. "It was a pretty decent plan."

She lets out an exhausted breath. "It was, wasn't it?"

Before he can respond, Finn lumbers up to them, looking, well, confused, and Rachel immediately knows he's bound to say something utterly inappropriate. She really doesn't have the time or patience or heart for this. She just wants to crawl into a little ball and let the world happen without her. "Hey, Rach," he says.

"Hi, Finn," she says tensely.

He scratches the top of his head in thought. "So, you're gay?"

Rachel huffs. "I'm bisexual, Finn."

"So, I didn't turn you gay?"

Rachel glances at Kurt, who looks annoyed on her behalf.

"Go away, Finn," Kurt says briskly. "We have more important things to do than stroke your ego."

He frowns, definitely not appreciating his stepbrother's tone of voice. Still, he ignores it. "If you're looking for Quinn, she's outside by the bleachers," he says.

After a brief moment of shocked silence, Kurt asks, "Why would we be looking for Quinn?"

Finn looks knowingly at Rachel. "Why wouldn't you be, right?"

Rachel isn't sure what to say because she's just so exhausted. This entire day has been exhausting, and all she wants to do is crawl into bed (with Quinn), possibly have a good cry (with Quinn) and go to sleep (with Quinn). "Thank you, Finn," she says.

"Sure thing," he says. "And, don't worry, I won't tell anyone."

"Thank you," she says again and, when Finn walks away, she looks at Kurt.

"Don't worry," he says, drawing her into another hug. "We're going to figure out this entire mess."

"Starting with Quinn."

"Starting with Quinn," he echoes.

* * *

As much as Rachel wants to see Quinn, she and Kurt know it's too risky to do it while on school grounds. Rachel is definitely being watched, and talking to Quinn now would only draw attention to her and them, and she's vowed to do all she can _not_ to do that.

Plus, she's pretty certain that Quinn hates her.

"What did she say to you?" Rachel asks Kurt for the umpteenth time.

Kurt, to his credit, resists the urge to roll his eyes. "Nothing, Rachel," he says. "She was in shock, obviously, and her nose was bleeding, so Brittany took her to the Nurse. I haven't heard anything from her since then."

Rachel sighs, laying the top half of her body down on the counter in Juniper's. It's technically only Rachel's shift now, but Kurt is keeping her company. He's trying to distract her with _anything_ , but none of it is working. Her mind keeps drifting back to Quinn Fabray, and he suspects she already thinks of little else. He wouldn't even know what he would be doing if he were in her position, and that's terrifying.

In another life, things would be different.

In another life, Rachel Berry wouldn't have fallen in love with Quinn Fabray.

* * *

Rachel and Kurt are just switching shifts when -

Well, when Quinn arrives.

It's so unexpected and so surprising that neither of the best friends knows what to say or do. The normally smiling Quinn Fabray of Juniper's is no more, and there's something _hard_ in her expression that chills Rachel to the very core.

Quinn makes a beeline straight for Kurt and hands him a wad of paper held together by a butterfly clip. "I've finished it," she says. "If you have edits, make them on this hardcopy, give it back and then I'll change things on the final document," she says, all business and straight edges. "The presentation is almost done. I'll send you your parts when I've written the speech. I expect you to practice thoroughly, and have it memorised. Read through the notes again for when Mr Pope and the rest of the class ask their questions, and you should be fine." She pauses, taking a breath. "That should be everything. I don't expect any more contact from you, nor will I welcome it."

"Quinn," Kurt starts to say, and she shoots him such a pained, pleading look that he shuts up immediately.

"I _can't_ , Kurt," she says, and the tone of her voice says it all. There's so much strain there that it's surprising she hasn't pulled a vocal chord.

"Okay," he whispers.

Quinn turns to go, but her steps falter, and she meets Rachel's gaze. Her eyes are stormy and clouded with more emotion than either girl knows with what to do. "Was it all a game?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

"No, Quinn," Rachel immediately says. "I - "

Quinn raises a hand to silence her. "Have _you_ ever lied to me?"

Rachel can barely breathe, but she's going to tell the truth. Everything from now on will be the truth and nothing less. "Yes," she says.

Quinn breathes out slowly, her eyes staying on Rachel's as she speaks, her voice a monotone. "School is getting hectic now, and I'm falling behind. I really need to focus, and I _really_ can't do any of this right now."

Rachel hears the echo of her own words in Quinn's and it twists her insides painfully.

"I'm sorry," Quinn says. "I thought this - I just wanted - " she stops, sighs, and then shakes her head at her own inability to say the right words. "Just, not now."

And then she's gone.

Rachel can only just watch her leave, her own apology dying on her lips.

* * *

 **GoldStarRBB** : So, I don't really expect you to read this, but I need to write down what I'm feeling before I lose my mind. It's bound to happen. It's been threatening to happen since I reached puberty.

 **GoldStarRBB** : When we first started talking, I wasn't sure what to make of this new friend I was making. I get too excited sometimes. I invest too much of myself into relationships because I just want people to like me. I live for acceptance and approval and applause. I think it stems from when I was quite young. Having two gay fathers tends to keep certain people away - which, in hindsight, probably isn't the worst thing in the world - and I think I've been trying to make up for it in so many other ways. Don't get me wrong; I love my fathers dearly, but I've come to accept that I jumped at the anonymity of what we initially had because I didn't have to be the proud daughter of Lima's gay couple.

 **GoldStarRBB** : It makes me feel sick when I think about it. It's hard. It's been difficult for me, and I try not to complain. I've been teased about my parents for as long as I remember, and I've been bullied about my general overbearing, insufferable personality for even longer. Though, now that I come to think of it, you've never made any comments about my parents' sexuality.

 **GoldStarRBB** : Huh?

 **GoldStarRBB** : I have dreams, and I'm not ashamed of them. I'm getting out of this stupid town, and I still want you to come with me. My plans for us haven't changed. I want nothing more than to be in New York with you (or just visit you in New Haven, really.) I think it's safe to say I just want to be with you. I want to BE with you, Quinn. In all the ways. Emotionally and physically. I know this whole ordeal has put things in jeopardy or... something, but I need you to know that I still want this and I still want you. Nothing has changed in that regard.

 **GoldStarRBB** : Of course, this is all from my side.

 **GoldStarRBB** : It's never been a game, Quinn. I would never willingly hurt you this way. If I could help it, you would never hurt again. All I've ever wanted was to protect you; to make you feel safe and accepted. I want you to allow yourself to be happy with who you are. As cliche as it is, all I've ever wanted was to help you learn to love yourself and love life. All I can hope now is that I've succeeded even a little bit. I just want you to be happy. Even if you determine that to be without me.

 **GoldStarRBB** : Whatever happens, I don't regret ever meeting you or getting to know you or falling in love with you. We were friends first, and I've always wondered where in our endless texting and messaging that I figured out I wanted MORE. It's probably easier to fall for a 'person' over the internet because their gender remains unimportant. I think, by then, my bisexuality had no bearing on my feelings for you at all. You could have been an alien for all I cared; I would still love you.

 **GoldStarRBB** : And I do, Quinn. I love you in a way I can barely understand because, honestly, we haven't even been on a date yet.

 **GoldStarRBB** : YET. I'm still holding out for you.

 **GoldStarRBB** : The concept of love has always been something foreign to me. I know it exists, and I'm sure I've felt it, but nothing like with you. I felt it for you through my phone, and then I started to feel all these things for the person Quinn, and I'm sorry I made you doubt me. It's your own fault, by the way. Why do you have to be so irresistible in so many different ways?

 **GoldStarRBB** : It just makes me think, you know, about fate and destiny and all that. It also makes me think about souls and soulmates and how we were always going to find each other, in all the different capacities. The fact that we could fall for each other twice. It gives me this odd sense of hope that has no business existing. I'm a bit of a romantic, you see, and I will do the big gesture, Quinn. I will.

 **GoldStarRBB** : In fact, I think I'm going to. Don't be alarmed, though. I promised to keep your secret, and I intend to do that. Just, well, I kind of want the world to know that I'm in love, and I'm in love with a girl. Who is, might I say, BEYOND PRETTY. Your moniker definitely doesn't do you justice. You are beautiful, Quinn, both inside and out, and I want nothing more than to bask in it. In you.

 **GoldStarRBB** : You want time. I get that. I intend to give it to you. I just don't want you to forget about me or anything. 'Rachel' won't contact you, but I hope you won't mind that I keep writing things to you here. It helps me and, if you do read any of this, I hope it helps you too.

 **GoldStarRBB** : By the way, my name is Rachel Berry, and I am ridiculously and dangerously in love with you, Quinn Fabray.

 **GoldStarRBB** : Whenever you're ready, baby. I'm right here. Waiting (im)patiently.


	11. XVIII, XIX

**XVIII**

"Well, you look less like shit than I thought you would," Kurt says by way of a greeting when Rachel shows up the next morning. He's waiting for her at her locker, coffee in hand, and she swears she could kiss him. And then punch him.

Instead, she just takes the coffee from him and murmurs a thank you. "I feel less manic depressed than I did last night," she confesses.

"Did something happen?" he asks, raising his eyebrows.

"Not exactly," she says. "I just channelled my feelings into the written word, and it seems to have helped. I also had a talk with my dads about the possible backlash of having a supposedly gay daughter. I imagine they'll have to deal with bigots claiming that they've perverted an innocent life for a few weeks."

Kurt looks disgusted. "It's not _contagious_."

"I'll be sure to address it in the letter I intend to write," she says, only half-joking.

Kurt catches onto the tone of her voice and raises his eyebrows in question. "Wait. What are we writing, and why are we writing it?"

She nervously nibbles at her bottom lip, and then sighs. "I know we sort of came up with a plan _before_ \- which we didn't end up using - but I may or may not have come up with another one."

Kurt, expectedly, is suitably intrigued. However skeptical he was once about this entire thing; he's very invested in these two girls getting their happy endings - he's starting to get the feeling that he's not the only one - and he just knows those endings lie with each other, regardless of how stubborn and dimwitted they're both being. "Tell me more," he prompts. "What's the plan?"

Before Rachel can respond, Kurt is speaking again. Though, she realises a beat to late, it's not to her.

"What do you want?" Kurt suddenly asks, his tone icy cold, and Rachel actually flinches. She's never heard his voice sound like that. It's harsh, and she can't mistake the disdain and... protectiveness in it. She thinks she loves him that bit more.

"I just want to talk," a voice says, and Rachel spins around to see Santana standing right there. The Latina looks... miserable, forlorn, gutted and so many other descriptors that Rachel tries not to care about. She doesn't care. She doesn't want to.

"I think you've said more than enough," Rachel says tensely, momentarily proud of the way her voice doesn't falter.

Santana meets her gaze, and there's _pleading_ there. "I didn't know," she says. "I didn't know it was Quinn."

Rachel shakes her head, her anger flaring. "That changes nothing," she hisses. "Why should it change _anything_ , Santana? You knew _exactly_ what you were doing and, as long as it was me and some random girl you were hurting; it was fine, right? But, the second it's your _best friend_ , you suddenly grow a conscience!"

They're attracting attention, and Rachel decidedly doesn't care. It's not as if people weren't already staring, and it's definitely not as if she doesn't have a _very_ good reason for berating the Latina.

Despite it all, Rachel just doesn't have the energy for this. "Please can you just leave me alone," she says. "You've done what you've done. The least you can do is live with the consequences."

Truthfully, Rachel doesn't expect Santana to listen, but she does. The Latina takes a step back and sighs. "I didn't know," she repeats, as if they're the only words she needs to have them believe. Whatever she didn't _know_ remains unimportant.

Kurt sighs from his position beside Rachel. "Quinn doesn't believe her, does she?" he asks rhetorically. "Whether it's if she knew you were Little Star and didn't tell her, or it's if she knew she was Pretty Girl and still went ahead with it..." he trails off, shaking his head. "Rachel?"

"Hmm?"

"If she doesn't have you or Little Star or her best friend; who _does_ she have?"

Rachel swallows audibly, but then breathes out a small sigh of relief when she spots two blondes hovering at a certain locker. "For now, I guess, she has her better friend."

Kurt stares at her, puzzled. "Her what?"

Rachel shrugs, unwilling to explain. So much of her relationship with Pretty Girl has been publicised, and all she wants is to protect what little they have left. "Come on," she says; "we should get to class."

* * *

"So," Kurt says. "This plan of yours..."

For the first time in what feels like a thousand years, she cracks a smile. "I want her to know that I love her, and I never meant for any of this to happen," she says; "and I'm willing to risk, well, everything."

He raises his eyebrows - they've been particularly busy since this entire mess began. "I don't know if I like the sound of that."

She shrugs. "What can I say?" she says innocently. "I'm all about the over-the-top romantic gestures."

"We do both know Quinn isn't, right?"

"Quinn might not be," she says; "but Pretty Girl definitely is."

* * *

"Are you sure about this?"

If Rachel is being entirely honest with herself, she would have to say no, she's definitely not sure. Still, she's going through with it. Maybe, if anything, it'll stop all the speculation and all the whispers. It'd be nice to have it all out in the open, straight from her. That way, nobody can twist what's happened into his or her own directive. There's one truth, and Rachel is going to share it.

"Are you sure?" Kurt asks again. "Because, once you post it, there's no going back."

"I don't want to go back," she says. "I just want to move forward, Kurt."

He breathes out slowly before he drops into the chair beside hers, where they're camped out at the computers in the library. Both their sets of eyes are on the screen in front of Rachel. It's open to a page that has the power to change, well, everything. It'll either go really well or desperately poorly. Kurt is hoping it all works out, but one can never be too sure with things like this. Everything else seems to be falling apart, anyway. "Have you spoken to your dads about this?"

She nods. "Besides it being brave and stupid; that's kind of all there is to it."

"Your dads did not call you stupid," he admonishes with a laugh.

"It may have been implied."

"I think you were looking for things that clearly weren't there," he says.

"I seem to be good at that," she mutters.

Kurt gently pats her hand over the mouse. "Don't say that," he says. "She loves you. Of course, she loves you." He presses his lips together. "She's just scared and probably still in shock. She's going to come around, you'll see."

Rachel turns her head to look at him. "Has she talked to you at all?"

"Not really," he confesses. "I gave her my revisions for our paper earlier, and she said 'thank you, I'll get right on it,' which doesn't really count for much. I mean, it's _something_. At least she's not hiding herself away or something like that. She's... present, which means it's only a matter of time before she wraps her head around the truth of who you are."

"Do you really believe that?"

"Don't you?"

"I'm not sure what I believe anymore," she says, sighing heavily. "I mean, of course I want to believe this is all going to work out, but I'm Rachel Berry, and I've never really been that lucky." She picks at the hem of her sweater with her left hand. "I don't mean to be all 'woe-is-me,' but everything just seems so _hard_ , you know?"

"I do know," he sympathises. "But, answer me this: is it worth it?" Then: "Is _she_ worth it?"

It's the simplest answer she'll ever give. "Yes."

"Then, what are you waiting for you?" he asks. "Send in that bad-boy."

* * *

_Dear McKinley Staff and Students_

_My name is Rachel Berry, and I'm writing this letter with the sole intention of clearing up a few things that have been making their way around school about me. I intend to provide you all with the actual truth. Rumours are nasty things. Believe me, I would know. I have been the unlucky recipient of several of them and, until this morning, I was happy to let things continue as they have. I've since changed my mind, you see, because, while I can handle and even accept the whispers and the taunts; I do not wish for the people I care about to go through the same._

_So, as I'm sure majority of you already know, several of my private messages made their way through our school as part of a sick, twisted prank. You'll hear it first here, people. Those particular rumours are all true. I am one of the girls in the messages that you've all undoubtedly heard about by now. I am Little Star. I am bisexual. I have a girlfriend (which, though, currently, is still up in the air.) I am ridiculously in love, and I most assuredly don't care about what the lot of you think about any of that._

_Until a few days ago, I was happy and safe and in a place in my life where I was working towards coming out. I had plans. I had ideas. It's such a personal thing, you know, deciding on how and who and when and where to tell this secret about yourself. And, it is a secret. It's one of those things that the world almost forces you into holding close to your chest because it's still one of those things people don't and are refusing to understand. I've always stood by the belief that love is love, and men and women's bodies are just the vessels that carry the souls with which you fall in love._

_At times, society has almost managed to beat the belief out of me, but I'm nothing if not stubborn and strong-willed. It's one of the only reasons I still show up to this soul-crushing, spirit-draining excuse of a place they like to call high school. I've learned that not only I feel that overwhelming feeling. It's something I found in my conversations with a faceless stranger; someone who didn't know me and couldn't judge me based on anything I didn't tell them. It's a wonderful feeling, you know, being known for who you actually are and not for what people believe they know you are._

_We're all so constricted by society's perceived notions of who we are, based on our looks, on our wealth and on our families. It's a vicious cycle, really, all this judgment that gets passed on to us from our parents, that we'll eventually pass onto our offspring. Is it too much to ask for people to be kind and accepting, regardless of your beliefs? I mean, people can preach love and forgiveness all they want, but they fail to put it in practice. Is that what we really want?_

_I know it's not what I want. What I want is to be able to walk the corridors without fear of a slushy facial or a strongly-worded insult sent my way. What I want is to be able to hold my girlfriend's hand in public and have the world not have a conniption. What I want is for everyone, different in all their glorious ways, to feel safe and happy and loved._

_I don't think it's too much to ask, really, because I'm convinced you all want the same thing too. Cruelty and ridicule is what forced my outing. Prejudice and ignorance is what requires an outing at all. I know I'm only one girl in a sea of people who probably don't care at all about the other person, but I do, and I know there are others out there. We all carry our own truths and we all hide our own secrets. I don't imagine for a second that any of you would want any of those secrets revealed, which is why this entire situation has been that much harder for me. Privacy is a human right. It isn't even about it being a gay right. It's a right, period, and I would really appreciate it if people would start to respect mine and that of my girlfriend. I didn't ask for this, and she surely didn't._

_Seriously._

_Who on earth would ask for this?_

_Which is why I'm making this plea. I'm asking your consciences to put yourselves in our shoes; to feel the fear and panic and ultimate betrayal. Stop. Just, stop. Don't you see? Can't you tell? There is a girl out there who forces herself to walk into school every day, worried and terrified that someone is going to figure out her secret, and that's no way to live. I don't want that for her, and I need all of YOUR help to help her keep it._

_You've already forced me out. I know what it feels like, and I don't want that for anyone else, least of all the girl I love._

_This part is for you, Pretty Girl. I love you, and I'm sorry I couldn't protect what we shared the way I promised to. I'm sorry the person I am painted such a target on my back and you were dragged into this mess. I'm sorry we weren't able to have the wonderful 'Big Reveal' we so wanted. I'm just so very sorry. One day, when we're away from this place, when we're safe and happy and free; I promise to make it up to you._

_If you'll still have me, that is. I'm willing to wait until you're ready. I'm willing to wait even if you're never ready. Just know that I love you, and nothing that's happened has changed anything for me. I want this, and I want you, regardless of who you are. That's the beauty of our love, isn't it? It'll never matter._

_That's all folks. Please, go about your days as usual._

_Little Star_   
_a.k.a Rachel Barbra Berry_

* * *

"How do you feel?" Kurt asks as he and Rachel make the short walk from the library to the choir room for some practice before Glee. He's convinced she needs some musical therapy. It's always managed to help in the past and, given the events of this week; he'll take help anywhere he can find it.

"Sick to my stomach," Rachel replies, her right hand unconsciously resting on her abdomen.

"Are you going to hurl?" he asks, taking a small step away from her.

"No," she says with a small laugh. "But it feels as if someone is literally doing the Foxtrot on my diaphragm."

"That's quite the description," he comments. "But, there's no need to get all caught up over what's going to happen. The letter will only be published late this afternoon. You won't even be here to see the aftermath, and then you can spend the weekend panicking over your lack of relationship and trying to plan your escape from Lima-Ville before the 'Bible Mob' catches up to you."

Rachel shoots him a glare. "Sometimes, I'm convinced you're a sadist."

"Only sometimes?" he says, entirely too smug. "I _must_ work on that."

She shakes her head, finding herself amused. "I don't even know what to do with you," she says; "but then I'm equally, if not more, at a loss as to what to do _without_ you." Without her say-so, her eyes scope the corridor and, indeed, there are students looking at her and saying things to one another, about her and about Pretty Girl. She needs it to stop - this isn't the type of environment for her or for Quinn - and she's certain that she did the right thing by sending that letter.

She reaches out to stop Kurt, and his steps falter.

"What?" he immediately asks. "What's wrong? Are you having second thoughts? It's too late now. As soon as the hour hits; it's automatically uploaded, and I don't think - "

"No," she interrupts. "It's not that. I'm fine. Everything is fine."

He looks at her, clearly puzzled. "Then, what is it?"

"I just wanted to say thank you," she says. "You're kind of a bastard about certain things, but thank you."

He just pulls her into another hug. "If I'm a bastard, then you're a bitch."

She shrugs while still in his embrace, soaking up all the warmth and comfort she can. "Believe me, I've been called worse."

* * *

Rachel _knows_ the moment the letter hits the school's website and various affiliated blogs because her phone essentially _blows up_. She's sure Jacob Ben Israel is practically salivating as she lies on her bed staring at her ceiling and just hoping that Quinn doesn't end up hating her more than she already does.

There's a fine line between love and hate, apparently.

Eventually, Rachel _has_ to switch off her phone. She's not even sure _how_ people have managed to get her contact details, and she doesn't even know what they could possibly have to say to her. If it's more ridicule, she definitely doesn't want to see any of it. She's said her peace, and she can only hope that the world can accept that. Somehow.

Because, right now, she has a paper to finish.

* * *

 **GoldStarRBB** : I've been thinking about something you once said about the future. How you're worried over it; over how fast it's coming, and you'd just like for it to slow down, or even stop entirely. I understood it then, and I still understand it now, but I find myself wishing that I could fast forward through this part. I want to get to the part in our story where you believe me and forgive me and go back to loving me. I want us to be happy and free and away from this place.

 **GoldStarRBB** : I want to be able to love you the way you deserve to be loved. And, I know we have to go through all of this to get there, but I'm impatient. I'm eager and excited and hopeful, and I am so in love you that it hurts.

 **GoldStarRBB** : I get that you still need time, and I'm going to give it to you. I AM giving it to you. I'm just really bad at it.

 **GoldStarRBB** : I love you, my pretty girl :*

* * *

.

* * *

**XIX**

"Oh my God!"

Kurt practically pounces on Rachel the second she steps out of her car in the parking lot on Monday morning. "Where the hell have you been? Why haven't you been answering your phone?"

Rachel just raises her eyebrows as she straightens her spine in a mini-stretch. "Uh, hello to you too," she says. "Where's the fire?"

"Jesus, Rachel," he says, reaching into her pocket and taking out her phone. "It's off? Why on earth is your phone off? What the hell have you been doing this entire weekend? You _cannot_ drop a bomb on the school and then just disappear."

She just stares at him, clearly dumbfounded. "Uh, I had a paper to finish, you know."

Kurt bristles at the implication that he wouldn't know that and be sympathetic to her struggle. "Are you done with it?"

She pats her backpack. "Finished it at three o'clock this morning," she says. "I don't think I'll fail, but I'm definitely not going to do as well as I would have if - "

"Santana didn't decide to fuck up your life," he finishes for her.

"Exactly."

He tilts his head to the side. "You look exhausted."

"I am," she says. "Like, bone-weary, Kurt. And I really miss being able to talk to Pretty Girl. I miss _Quinn_."

"Right," he says with a slight cringe. Her life probably, definitely, isn't going to get any easier now that she's done writing the penultimate paper. "About that."

Rachel frowns. "What about what?"

"Turn this stupid thing on," he says about the phone, and she does as she's told. He quickly puts in her passcode. "By the way, you should probably change that from your birth year. Even _Santana_ could figure it out."

She resists the urge to roll her eyes as she watches him navigate her screen.

"Holy hell," he says. "Look at your inbox." He turns the phone to show her, and her eyes nearly bug out of her head at the hundreds of notifications.

"What the hell is _that_?" she asks, incredulous.

"It's _you_ , Rachel," he says. "It's you taking a stand for yourself and for your love." He presses a hand to his chest and, on any other person, it might look convoluted, but this is Kurt Hummel. "You've - you've sparked something."

She's sure she's hearing the words he's saying, but they don't seem to be registering with her. "What on earth are you talking about?"

Kurt scrolls through her emails. "Look at this," he says, finding a very specific one and opening it. "The whole damn school has gone crazy, and they've started a 'Help Unite Little Star and Pretty Girl' campaign."

Her eyes widen in alarm, and her body practically jolts. "What!"

"Oh, Rachel," he says with a sigh. "Honey, you've missed _so much_."

* * *

It's like walking into some kind of twilight zone when Rachel finally makes it into the school building. People are still staring, but it's different now, and she's unsure what to do with it. There's a certain wonder in their eyes, as if she's just opened a portal to Neverland, and she's starting to feel self-conscious.

"Kurt," she says, gripping the back of his sweater tightly in her fist. "What is happening?"

He looks over his shoulder at her. "I believe that you, my friend, are now this beacon of hope and truth and love," he says, grinning madly. He's really enjoying this a little too much.

"What? Like the _Mockingjay_?"

He raises his eyebrows. "Hush now," he says. "You've just become _cool_. Don't let your nerd show."

"The _Hunger Games_ is amazing," she argues, and then frowns. "What do you mean I'm cool?"

"I mean you're _cool_ ," he says. "People tend to respond well to unspeakable truths and professed love. Even if it is between two girls in this God-awful, backwards town."

"Are you trying to tell me that people are now _supportive_ of my gay love?"

Kurt nods. "They want to _help_ you."

"Help me what?"

"Find Pretty Girl."

Rachel's eyes widen. "What? No! That's not what I want. That's not what I meant to happen when I wrote that letter."

"I think it's sweet," Kurt admits as they reach his locker.

"Kurt," she says tensely. "The entire idea of writing the letter was to get them to _stop_ trying to figure out Pretty Girl's identity," she points out. "Oh, my God. Quinn is going to kill me."

As if the thought has _just_ occurred to him as well, Kurt's movements grow still. "Well, shit."

Rachel buries her face in her hands. "I know she wants this," she mumbles. "I _know_ she wants to be with me, but she's terrified. She's freaked out of her mind, Kurt, and the bigger the spotlight is on her alter-ego, as it were; the less likely she's going to want to act on any of her desires."

Kurt raises his eyebrows at her wording. "Desires?"

Rachel blushes deeply. "Have you never had a fantasy, Hummel?" she asks, somewhat coyly.

He laughs, entirely too knowingly. "I'm quite certain that you and I have completely different fantasies, as you say."

"I should hope so," she says with a laugh. "Mine tend to involve a certain blonde with a very pretty face and striking green eyes."

Kurt doesn't know whether to be grossed out or impressed. She's his best friend, and he definitely doesn't need to be plagued by thoughts remotely in _that_ vicinity. And he definitely doesn't want to be thinking of Quinn that way. It'd be hot, he's sure, but ugh. He's going to have to bleach his brain when all this is over.

If it ever is.

Quinn is stubborn, and she's likely to do _things_ when she feels threatened.

Rachel is determined, though, and he wonders if she's going to end up irreversibly hurt because of it.

* * *

Rachel can ignore what's happening only long enough to get through her first period, because then she's walking to English where she's supposed to hand in a hardcopy of her final paper and a CD with all her electronic references uploaded on it. They have to sign the class register when they hand in, and Kurt and Quinn are forced to approach Mr Pope together.

Quinn hands the bound paper to Kurt, who kisses the cover page, and then sets it down on the pile on their teacher's desk.

"Sign right here," Mr Pope says, and Quinn signs first. Unexpectedly, she waits while Kurt signs as well, and then they walk towards a corner to talk. Mr Pope, so kindly, has offered them this period to work on their presentations, which will be taking place on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday.

As of right now, Quinn and Kurt are scheduled for Wednesday, and Rachel is speaking on Thursday. She hasn't had much time to work on it - that's a problem for this afternoon - but it's clear that Quinn is very on top of the situation. Rachel can only watch as Quinn hands several pieces of paper to Kurt, explains a few things, and then stalks back to her desk at the back of the classroom.

Kurt watches her go for a moment before he moves back to his own desk beside Rachel's. "Well, that went well," he grumbles as he slaps the pages down on the desk.

Rachel drags her eyes away from Quinn to look at him. "What did she say?"

He gestures at the pages in front of him. "I'm supposed to memorise our speech, and practice with the presentation that's supposed to be sitting in my email inbox, right now," he says. "We have a run-through scheduled for early on Wednesday morning."

Rachel blinks. "Isn't that cutting it a little close?"

He shrugs. "I just think she wants to spend as little time with me as possible."

Rachel can't help her guilt, and she automatically apologises. "I'm sorry all _my_ drama is affecting your relationship with Quinn," she says softly. "I know you two were becoming good friends."

"It's not your fault," he says. "If anything, right now, it's Quinn's."

Rachel turns her head around to look at Quinn, who's sitting perfectly still, her head down as she scribbles something in her notebook. Santana is sitting right beside her, but they're not talking to each other. In fact, it's as if Quinn isn't even acknowledging her, and Santana is looking at Quinn with such... pleading in her eyes.

Rachel immediately looks away.

"I'm still sorry," she says.

He glances at her. "Don't worry about it," he says. "Now, do you need me to come over after Glee to help you with your presentation?"

She just manages to curb the urge to throw her arms around him. "Yes, please."

* * *

"I want to help."

It's the voice that startles Rachel; not so much the words, and she turns away from her locker to look at the culprit. The corridor is just filling up with students rushing for lunch. "Santana," she says; "please can we not do this."

Santana folds her arms across her chest. "I mean, I want to help with Quinn," she explains unnecessarily. "Look, I know I did a shitty thing, and I'll be paying for it for years, I'm sure, but I can help. You need my help."

Rachel glares at her. "I don't _need_ anything from you."

"Maybe you don't," she allows; "but I still want to offer it." She drops her gaze for a moment, and then raises it to meet Rachel's. "Look, we both know Quinn isn't going to come around on her own. She's too stubborn, and she's terrified." Santana presses her lips together. "I've never actually seen her like this, and I thought I'd seen everything Quinn Fabray has to offer. I don't understand _why_ she's fighting it so much."

Rachel sighs. "She doesn't want anyone to know," she says.

"Nobody is going to find out."

"You can't assure her of that any more than I can," she says. "It's her biggest fear, Santana. You must know that."

Santana sighs. "I fucked up, didn't I?"

Rachel says nothing.

"I should apologise."

"Yes, you should," Rachel says. "Quinn doesn't need the add - "

"No," Santana interrupts. "I should apologise to _you_."

"Oh."

"Not now, though," she says, and her eyes spark. "I'm going to make it up to you. Both of you. Somehow. I told you I want to help."

"Santana, I don't think that's a - " Rachel starts to say, but the Latina is already walking away.

Rachel sighs heavily, leaning against the lockers and trying not to let the heaviness of this entire day get to her. She's just barely surviving, and she hopes that whatever Santana may or may not have planned doesn't make everything infinitely worse.

* * *

Rachel should know she doesn't need Santana's help for that.

She's capable of doing it all on her own.

* * *

"There she is."

"Just the person we wanted to see."

"Come with us."

In the drama of actually trying to survive her day at school, Rachel has almost managed to forget that there's now an active effort to locate Pretty Girl and unite the token lesbians of McKinley until she arrives at the cafeteria for lunch. It's disconcerting to see Jacob Ben Israel and Noah Puckerman working towards the same thing. They even have posters.

Rachel is guided towards a table, and then bombarded with information left, right, and centre. Students she doesn't even recognise are asking her questions about all she knows about Pretty Girl, and then someone is shoving a piece of paper in her hand.

"This is the list we've been able to come up with," a girl - Rachel thinks her name is Stacey - explains. "Do you think any of them could be her?"

Rachel feels her heart beat that bit faster as she looks down.

_Potential Candidates for 'Pretty Girl'_

_1\. Samantha Peters  
_ _2\. Maisie Lewis  
_ _3\. Anita Wilson  
_ _4\. Sugar Motta  
_ _5\. Ella Brennan  
_ _6\. Alessia Gomez  
_ _7\. Nina Smith  
_ _8\. Quinn Fabray  
_ _9\. Malia Chapel  
_ _10\. Billie Gillespie  
_ _11\. Denise Holden  
_ _12\. Amanda Bay  
_ _13\. Louisa Capaldi_

Rachel, predictably, freezes at the sight of Quinn's name, and her mind goes completely blank. No. No.

Stacey doesn't seem to register her reaction, and points at the page. "Santana Lopez was originally on the list," she explains. "We thought it was some kind of extreme shadowing, you know, but Santana is out, so we had to rule her out." Her tone is so conversational, as if she isn't discussing one of the most important things in Rachel's life. "We're probably also going to have to cross Amanda Bay off the list because Ian just heard that she and her boyfriend are planning on moving in together next year. From the messages, we gathered that Pretty Girl is actually single, right?"

Rachel doesn't even know what's happening.

Why is any of this happening?

Another boy - Dean or something - looks at the list over Rachel's shoulder. "Ella Brennan is also scrapped," he says. "Patty just got word that she doesn't _actually_ have a six pack."

Rachel almost laughs at the absurdity of all of this.

Stacey growls. "But that rules out more than just Ella," she says, taking the sheet of paper from Rachel and crossing out names with her pen.

Rachel's head is spinning dangerously. This isn't what she wanted. Well, she _thinks_ it's not what she wanted. All of this just seems so surreal, and she's convinced she's going to wake up any minute now and this will all be some fever dream or something.

"Louisa also has to go," someone says from across the table, and Rachel can't keep up with all the voices talking around her.

"And Anita," someone else says. "Tom says she's definitely going to Stanford."

Rachel feels her heart rate rise dangerously as names keep getting scratched off. Everything is just starting to unravel all around her, and she knows it's only a matter of time before they figure it out. She tries to make herself feel better by claiming that they were bound to reach a final conclusion at some point anyway, and her letter only managed to make it more of a concerted effort.

After what feels like forever, Stacey finally declares, "That leaves us with five names." She hands Rachel the redacted list, and Rachel barely looks at it. She's too preoccupied because, from her position, she can see Quinn. She can see her, just sitting there, not eating and not saying a word to anyone, and all of this hurts. This _fight_. It hurts.

"Don't worry," Dean says, patting Rachel's shoulder. "We're going to find her."

Rachel is five seconds away from bursting into tears, so, when Stacey says, "We're good to publish this, right?" Rachel's response is... the worst. The absolute.

Eyes still on Quinn, unthinkingly, Rachel says, "Sure," and everything does get infinitely worse.

* * *

_Pretty Girl: Oh my God, Rachel!_

_Pretty Girl:_ _Oh my God. Oh my God._

_Pretty Girl:_ _What the hell did you do?_

* * *

At first, Rachel doesn't quite understand Quinn's obvious panic.

And then she just does.

* * *

_Pretty Girl: There's a list. Why is there a list? Rachel, oh my God. My name is on that fucking list._

_Pretty Girl: My parents. Someone mentioned the list to them at the church event tonight. Oh, my God. This can't be happening. Please tell me none of this is happening._

_Pretty Girl: I told you I'm not ready._

_Pretty Girl: What are you trying to do?_


	12. XX, XXI

**XX**

There's a certain numbness that settles over Rachel's body as she reads Pretty Girl's words. She can practically feel them reaching out of her phone's screen, right into her chest and squeezing her heart in a vice grip.

Quinn's panic is raw and real, and Rachel _knows_ nothing good can come of this.

Almost on instinct, Rachel dials the number, which goes straight to voicemail, and she has to resist the near-unstoppable urge to throw her phone across the room in utter frustration. This isn't supposed to be happening. It was never supposed to be like this. They're supposed to be as far away from this place when they they both come out and officially start their relationship.

 _Nobody_ is supposed to know they started as an online relationship.

Nobody is supposed to know _anything_.

In fact, Rachel wishes she could go back in time to when she knew _nothing_. There was a time when it was just Little Star and Pretty Girl, just two faceless girls searching for something bigger than and beyond themselves, and now they're _here_ , in this mess that just doesn't seem to want to go away.

Almost two minutes later, Rachel's phone rings, and her heart jolts at the sight of the Caller ID.

It's not Quinn.

It's worse.

The person calling is Santana, and that tells Rachel all she needs to know.

Shutting her eyes tightly, she swipes right and brings the phone up to her ear. "Santana?"

"Okay, I know you don't want anything from me, and that's fine, but Quinn is freaking the fuck out and Brittany doesn't know how to handle her and we need to come up with a plan before Q does something crazy," Santana rushes out, clearly anticipating Rachel hanging up before she can say all the words. "Berry? Are you there?"

"I'm here," Rachel responds, forcing the words out. "You saw the list?"

"The whole fucking town saw the list," she says sardonically. "Quinn is working herself into a panic. Her parents keep texting and calling her about it, and she doesn't know what to do. She's - " she stops.

"She's what?"

"Berry," she says, and she sounds as if she's in pain. "If you know Quinn, and you obviously do, then you know she'll either do everything she possibly can to hide the truth by any means necessary, or she'll remove herself from the situation completely."

Rachel sucks in a breath. "What are you saying, Santana?"

Santana breathes out. "Look, she's at Brittany's house right now. She doesn't want to go home because she's just going to have to answer questions she doesn't have the answers for. I'm going to pick them both up, and then we're going to come to your house. Call Lady Hummel to meet us. We have to figure something out before - " she halts. "Just, _before_ , okay?"

She's met with silence.

"Rachel?"

The sound of her first name from Santana's lips tells Rachel all she needs to know about how serious this suddenly is. What once started out as an innocent friendship between to random Ohio-natives has turned into something dark, and they're now dealing in matters of life and death in ways teenagers definitely _shouldn't_.

Rachel's heart stutters as that thought flits through her mind. Death. She recalls an almost-conversation with Pretty Girl about the possibility of her hurting herself, and Rachel suddenly feels sick. Almost involuntarily, she lets out a whimper.

"Rachel?" Santana asks again, sounding a little panicked. "Say something. Anything. I have to pick them up before Quinn does something stupid."

That jolts Rachel out of her thoughts. "Okay," she says quickly.

Santana hangs up immediately.

Rachel lets out one, long breath before she's on her phone again, dialling Kurt. He answers on the third ring, sounding somewhat groggy as if she's just woken him from a late afternoon nap.

"I need you to come to my house right now," Rachel immediately says, ignoring his greeting. "It's - it's an emergency."

"I'll be there in ten," he says without asking for more information.

"Oh, and Kurt?"

"Hmm?"

"Bring Finn."

* * *

Almost expected, Kurt and Finn arrive first, just twelve minutes after Kurt hung up with Rachel. The boys find the brunette pacing in the basement, having been sent down by a worried-looking Hiram when they arrived. From the older man's expression, it's clear that Rachel hasn't explained the full situation to him, and Kurt considers that's best for now.

"What should we do?" Finn asks Kurt as soon as he and Kurt step off the last of the stairs and watch a panicked Rachel walk back and forth across the surprisingly large room.

"I think we wait," Kurt says to him, and then bravely steps forward to interrupt Rachel from devolving into something unassailable. "Rachel, honey," he tries. "Finn and I are here."

Rachel takes another five steps before she halts and spins to face them. "She's coming," she says, and her voice sounds like she's being strangled.

"Who's coming?" Kurt asks patiently.

"Quinn," Rachel says, just about managing to say the blonde's name out loud. "Quinn is coming _here_. To my house. With Brittany and Santana."

Kurt's eyes widen. "What?"

"Did you see that - that list?" she asks, almost spitting the words. "They reduced the candidates to five names, and Quinn's is on it, and she's freaking out, and I've been down here trying to figure out what to do to make it all better, but I can't think of anything. I've literally got _nothing_ , Kurt, and I have a an entire presentation to finish and learn and practice, and I have this girl who means _everything_ to me, who's probably thinking this is all the end of the world, and how are the two of us _ever_ supposed to get past all of this? I don't want to - "

"Rachel," Kurt interrupts. "Honey, breathe. Just, breathe."

Rachel stares at him, helpless. "I don't know what to do," she suddenly cries, and then crumples right before their eyes. Her knees buckle, and she collapses on the carpet as she begins to sob uncontrollably.

In a flash, Kurt is on his knees beside her with his arms wrapped around her shaking frame. He doesn't tell her everything is going to be okay, because he can't be sure everything will. He can't even make assurances that Quinn will come around because, frankly, he can't be sure of that either. If _this_ is what people have to face when coming out; he wouldn't be surprised if Quinn stays in the closet forever.

Kurt looks over his shoulder at Finn. "Maybe you should go upstairs," he says. "It's doubtful Hiram or LeRoy is going to let Santana in here without some kind of conflict. Go play peacemaker. This is about Quinn and Rachel. We can deal with all the _other_ ugly stuff later."

Finn just nods, suddenly sure he would rather face an irate Latina than a mid-breakdown diva.

Once his stepbrother is gone, Kurt takes hold of Rachel's face and forces her to look at him. "I know you're a mess," he says, his voice patient and soothing. "I know it currently feels as if the world is coming down all around you. You're angry and heartbroken and all those other awful things that you definitely don't deserve, but _Quinn is coming_. She's coming _here_ , Rachel, and I need you to pull it together. You can be mad at her later because, right now, the girl you love _needs_ you not to be _this_. Okay? We have to get through this part, and _then_ you can fall apart, okay?"

Rachel blinks once, twice, and then clears her throat. "Quinn is coming?"

"She's coming," he confirms. "Now, do you want to look like a crying mess when she gets here?"

* * *

When the cheerleaders _do_ arrive, Rachel's attempts at trying _not_ to look like she's mid-breakdown are proved useless, because Quinn looks worse than she does, if that's even possible. Her eyes are bloodshot and puffy, and she's hugging herself tightly as Santana leads the way into the basement. Brittany has an arm around Quinn's shoulders, and the Head Cheerio looks so small; so lost.

So beautiful.

"Sit," Santana instructs the blondes, pointing at the couch as she moves towards where Rachel and Kurt are standing. She came in all charged up, but she falters at their stony expressions. "Hi," she says, awkwardly standing in front of them. "So, I know this is your house and all, and I'll definitely sit back and let you handle this, but I think I can be the only objective one here."

"Why?" Kurt asks, scoffing. "Because you don't have a soul?"

Santana flinches, and then nods. "Something like that, yeah," she says, almost off-handedly. "I can be the bad guy in this situation, and I know we can figure something out. Let me do this. _Please_."

Kurt looks to Rachel, and lets out a relieved sigh when the girl just nods.

Santana does the same.

"This doesn't make up for anything," Kurt feels the need to add.

Santana straightens, and then shrugs. "Didn't think it did."

* * *

"So, by my understanding, we have several options," Santana starts to say once everyone is seated.

They had to wait for Finn to come back downstairs, everyone to find a seat, and then only did Santana think they could get started. She's particularly nervous, by her own standards, and having all their eyes on her - knowing _she's_ the reason they're even here - is a little daunting.

"One of which is not having Quinn come out," Brittany adds, and there's a certain severity to it that's somewhat unexpected of the normally-easy-going blonde. Even her wording sounds dangerously serious, and Santana shifts her weight uncomfortably.

She's definitely still in the doghouse with her own girlfriend.

"Definitely," Santana agrees. "Q?"

Quinn visibly bristles, a certain fire flashing in her eyes. "What?" she snaps.

Santana prefers an angry Quinn to a sullen one. She knows how to handle the former far better than the latter, and they all know there _has_ to be a fight for any of this to be worth it. "Do you - are you - " she stops, clearing her throat. "Do you have any ideas?"

"No," Quinn says, suddenly sullen once more. "I'm sorry if I can't seem to think past the possibility of my parents finding out I'm actually gay and _not_ planning on going to Harvard." She buries her face in her hands. "God, I don't even know which one they would deem worse, at this point."

Santana sighs at the sound of that, and then looks around. "Anyone else have pressing ideas, or can we skip to mine?" Which, if she really considers everything that's happened and still _is_ to happen, is probably going to be what they end up doing. It's the only thing that'll make sense, and the only thing that'll work without making it exponentially worse.

She's already the villain in this story.

Finn cautiously raises his hand. "I don't have an idea, but I have a question," he says, suddenly aware that all eyes are on him. "What about the other girls on the list?"

"What about them?" Brittany asks, curious.

He frowns slightly. "I don't know. It just - do you think they're all going through some kind of panic too?"

"Probably," Kurt says, sighing. "What were they _thinking_?"

Finn shrugs. "I don't think they were," he says.

Kurt nods in agreement. "They had a single goal, and damn the consequences." He presses his lips together. "I suppose it's too much to ask to, I don't know, kind of _pay_ one of the other girls to be Pretty Girl for a few days, and then have the 'relationship' fall apart?"

Santana doesn't know who the suggestion is directed at, but she responds anyway. "If possible, I think it's best to keep everything within this room."

Kurt says nothing in response.

It's Brittany who brings up the one thing they're really all thinking, but aren't brave enough to voice. "What if we do something like on that show _Catfish_?" she says. "Quinn can say the reason she's on the list is because she was only _pretending_ to be Pretty Girl as part of a plot of revenge for Rachel stealing Finn."

Brittany says the words so casually, and she seems oblivious to the way three people shift in their seats, suddenly awkward, guilty and regretful.

It's when Quinn lifts her gaze to Santana's, the silent pleading in her eyes - _please don't make me do this, please don't make me hurt Rachel anymore than I already have_ \- that Santana accepts the role she's going to have to assume to make sure her best friend doesn't have to go through with this.

"No," Santana says, and all eyes dart towards her. "Not Quinn," she says. "Me."

Rachel releases a small gasp, Quinn breathes out slowly, and Santana isn't bothered with anyone else's reactions.

"It'll be easier for me to sell," Santana says. "I'm already the one who exposed it all, and I just have to mention it to one person, and it'll spread quickly and far enough to discredit the entire 'relationship.'" The moment she says the words, she has to look away from Quinn, feeling her own heart twist at the brief but deeply present flash of anguish.

Their relationship. Little Star and Pretty Girl. Reduced to nothing more than a sick prank.

"I'm sorry," Santana says. "I'm so sorry."

Nobody says anything for a good while, the silence stretching on for an uncomfortably long time, before Brittany speaks. "Quinn and I can get the rumour going around the cheerleaders, and Finn can do the footballers. It'll be all over school by the end of the day, and nobody will even worry about the list." She looks at Quinn, their faces mere inches from each other. "It'll work," she assures her. "It'll work, and everything will be okay. Your parents won't ever have to find out."

Quinn just stares at her. She knows, deep down, that this won't work. They might be able to fool the school but, now that the seed's planted in the minds of her parents; so much _more_ makes sense about their daughter.

Quinn says none of that, though, and just about manages a smile. "Of course, B," she whispers.

Rachel sees straight through it.

So does Santana, but this is the best they have.

* * *

After carefully ironing out the details, Santana breathes out slowly, her eyes tracking the faces before her. They have a plan. It's an ugly, slap-dash, crude plan that rightfully portrays her as the villain, but it's plan she's convinced is going to work. It's believable for her, and for who they are to one another. It's the least Santana can do to try to make up for... all of this mess she's created.

When the silence drags on, Finn clears his throat. "Uh, LeRoy said he's ordering pizza," he says. "I should - _we_ should go and see if it's here."

Santana nods. "That's a good idea, yeah," she says. "Britt, Kurt, let's go."

Rachel's eyes widen in panic as Kurt gets to his feet, and Quinn lets out a squeak when Brittany rises. Rachel reaches out to grab onto Kurt, but he slips out of reach.

"No," Kurt says; "you two need to talk." He looks pointedly between Quinn and Rachel. "Tomorrow isn't going to be easy for either of you, and it's important that you clear the air before the shitstorm _hits_."

Rachel can't even breathe properly. "Kurt, no."

He shakes his head. "Just _talk_ ," he says, suddenly exasperated. "Jesus, how difficult is it just to talk to each other? You've been doing it for _months_ , haven't you? Forget you're Quinn and Rachel for a minute, and just be Pretty Girl and Little Star. It doesn't have to be this _hard_." With one last look, he turns on his heel and leaves the basement, his footsteps fading away.

Rachel sits perfectly still as the seconds tick by. She _knows_ she has to be the one to break the silence, and she's just relieved that Quinn is still sitting here. Rachel can see her in the corner of her eye, sitting ramrod straight and her own gaze lowered.

Taking a deep breath, Rachel starts to speak. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen," she starts, her voice barely audible. "I had it all planned, Quinn, I swear. I wanted it to be special, and I didn't want you to be so blindsided by who I was, which is why I tried to get us to be friends first. I thought, maybe, if you actually liked me as a human being; it wouldn't be such a shock to you." She sighs. "But, obviously, that failed."

Quinn wrings her fingers together, unsure what to say or do.

"This is one of _my_ ugly scenarios," Rachel quietly admits. "I've always been worried you would learn who I am and then run. I just can't stand the idea you're disappointed, and all I - "

Quinn's head snaps up. "Rachel," she squeaks. "God - what - no." She shakes her head, trying to clear it. "I'm not... disappointed."

Rachel just stares at her in disbelief. "You're... not?"

"No," Quinn says, stronger now. "How could I be disappointed when I - " she pauses, suddenly looking unsure. "How could I possibly be disappointed when I _wanted_ it to be you?"

Rachel's breath catches, her heart stuttering. "Oh."

Quinn sighs. "I'm sorry my reaction made you feel that way," she says, and she sounds deeply sad about it. "I didn't handle myself well, I know. I'm - I'm _still_ not handling any of this well, or at all."

Rachel shifts her body slightly, angling herself towards Quinn. "You're not disappointed?" she asks again, needing clarification because her brain can't seem to wrap around the potential truth of it.

Quinn looks amused for a moment, her eyes searching and somewhat imploring. "No, Rachel, I can assure you I'm the furthest from disappointed." She breathes out slowly. "It's actually a relief. I thought I was going crazy when I - " again, she pauses, refusing to admit it. "I'm glad it's you, is all."

Rachel nods, feeling both better and worse having this insight into Quinn's thoughts. "What happens now?"

Quinn drops her gaze. "I think we take one thing at a time," she says softly. "We can deal with... all of this other stuff, and then we can - "

"Talk?"

Quinn nods. "I'd like that, yeah."

"You would?"

"I would."

Rachel wouldn't be able to stop her smile even if she tried, and her face splits into a grin. "Do you want to go upstairs to get some pizza?"

The sides of Quinn's mouth tilt upwards. "You're assuming there's any left," she says. "Finn is a hoover. You _know_ that."

Still, Rachel rises to her feet. She's tempted to put out her hand to help Quinn stand, but she stops herself. One step at a time.

One _baby_ step at a time.

* * *

"They're alive," Kurt says with unmistakable relief when Quinn and Rachel arrive at the kitchen, both of them looking a bit more - well, they look _less_ tense. There's obviously still awkwardness there, because they can barely look at each other, but they're standing in the same room and the world isn't imploding.

"Funny," Rachel says as she slides onto a stool next to Kurt, absently pulling out the one beside her for Quinn to sit. She doesn't even realise she's done it until the kitchen falls silent, Santana and Brittany exchanging a significant look, Finn grinning knowingly and Kurt raising his eyebrows expectantly.

"Thank you," Quinn murmurs as she slides onto the stool and reaches for two plates, carefully placing one in front of both herself and Rachel. "I'm assuming there's pizza that's not vegan, right?"

Santana quirks an eyebrow. "You are literally _looking_ at the pepperoni on that pizza."

Quinn shakes her head. "You know as well as I do that those vegans can make anything look like meat."

"Hey!" Rachel says. "I'm one of those vegans."

Quinn looks at her, dangerously amused. "Need I remind you of that 'fake' lasagna you tried to pass off as the real thing the last time I was here," she says.

"Don't act as if you didn't like it."

Quinn just rolls her eyes, and then reaches for the 'pepperoni' pizza to retrieve a slice for herself. As a result, she misses the way Kurt gapes at her familiar interaction with Rachel, and the way Santana scoffs at it, shaking her head.

They're idiots.

Such stubborn, stupid idiots.

And, really, Santana thinks, there doesn't seem to be anything to worry about.

Well, she can only hope.

* * *

It's gets awkward really quickly.

While Quinn was relatively _fine_ when she and Rachel first emerged from the basement; she seems to shrink right before there eyes as conversation goes on all around her. She barely says anything, just nibbling on her first and only slice of pizza with this dark, broken look on her face that makes them all uneasy.

Rachel keeps sneaking looks at her, and then looking at Santana for some kind of explanation, but the Latina looks equally as lost and helpless. Rachel suspects this all has to do with her parents, but it's unlikely she's going to talk about it with all of them. Pretty Girl - Quinn - has been rather vague and somewhat coy about the situation at home. She's never really spoken at length about it, and Rachel imagines it's a subject she doesn't enjoy.

All Rachel knows is that they might have made a plan to plug one gaping hole, but there are plenty still bleeding.

* * *

Kurt and Finn leave first, both boys sensing the tension and deciding it's wise to remove themselves from it. Finn hugs Rachel loosely, wary of Quinn's presence, and Kurt kisses her forehead, whispering words of assurance into her hair. He's not sure it'll help with anything, but it's all he's able to offer to her, right now. He gently touches Quinn's shoulder, and they all try not to notice when the girl visibly flinches.

Kurt shoots a worried look at Rachel, but she has nothing for him.

God, she has nothing left _at all_.

When the boys leave, the four girls remain in the kitchen, none of them saying anything for a good while.

It's Brittany who breaks the silence, her hand reaching across the breakfast nook and taking hold of Quinn's trembling fingers. "What's on your mind?" she asks her fellow blonde, and Rachel sends her a mental 'thank you.'

"I thought I had more time," Quinn whispers. "I was supposed to have more time."

"For what, Q?" Brittany asks.

Quinn lifts her eyes slightly, her eyes landing on Rachel's unassuming face. "You know, I had every intention of coming to New York with you," she says. "I had it all planned. We were going to be happy. It's all I ever wanted for us. I just want to be _happy_."

"Quinn," Rachel's mouth says, but no words come out.

"But, they won't let me." It's said so quietly that Rachel's not sure she even hears her. She's seen Quinn in various different forms: angry, seething, frustrated, annoyed, despondent, enlightened and even somewhat flirty, but this is the first time Rachel's seen _this_.

This... defeat.

This... apathy.

Rachel _hates_ it, and it's slowly and effectively breaking her heart.

Quinn eventually shakes her head as she slips off the stool and dusts off invisible crumbs from her clothes. She straightens to her full height, her mask sliding into place until the previously-defeated facial expression is completely gone.

Rachel can't decide if this is better or worse.

"Santana, can we go, please?" Quinn says, the tone of the HBIC filling the room. "I'm going to have to face the music at some point. Why delay the inevitable?"

It sounds ominous to all their ears, and all Rachel wants to do is reach out and hold onto her with everything she has. She wants to wrap her arms around Quinn's body and anchor her to this world; to this earth. She just wants to hold her, and keep her _here_.

She doesn't, though.

* * *

Sometimes, she wishes she did.

* * *

 **GoldStarRBB** : Maybe you don't want to hear it from me, but I honestly believe everything is going to fine, Quinn. I have to believe it, because it's all I can do right now. Whatever happens next is no longer in my hands... if it ever was. Sometimes, I get the feeling we were always meant to play these parts in life, and we're only given the impression we're actually in control when we're really not.

 **GoldStarRBB** : That's the part that gets to you, isn't it? The lack of control this entire situation puts us in? That it wasn't and will no longer be under our own terms how we came to know each other's identities or how we eventually come out? For that, I'm sorry, Quinn. I am so deeply sorry my actions took that away from you. I've never wanted to be one of those people in your life, Quinn. I've never wanted to be anything like your parents or your sister to you.

 **GoldStarRBB** : I've never wanted to hurt you. It's the last thing I wanted, and I need you to believe that. I just wanted to be able to love you the way you deserve, and I hope you'll let me, one day. I hope you'll let us love each other.

 **GoldStarRBB** : We're going to get through this part, though. I know it. Everything is going to be okay. You'll see. It's all going to work out. I have great faith in our plan. I don't know how not to. It's part of who I am, but I suspect you already know that. Because you know me, don't you? I think I was reminded about that tonight, and I hope you were as well. This is just the part we have to get through before we can get to all those great scenarios we've been dreaming about.

 **GoldStarRBB** : Despite the circumstances, it was nice to see you tonight. I miss talking to you. I just miss YOU. Just know I'm right here. Whenever you're ready.

 **GoldStarRBB** : I love you. I love you so much.

 **GoldStarRBB** : Goodnight, my pretty girl :*

* * *

.

* * *

**XXI**

Quinn isn't in school the next day, which is something that definitely doesn't sit well with Rachel.

But, everything else goes to plan.

* * *

It's easier than Rachel expects to act devastated when the news breaks that Santana is 'Pretty Girl,' a persona she supposedly created in order to catfish and humiliate Rachel Berry in the worst way.

Even if it's not entirely true, it's close enough to the truth that Rachel can still feel and channel the desolation she's been feeling about her _forcing_ out and the revelation of her secret relationship with a nameless, faceless girl she happened to fall in love with.

The worst part, really, is that nobody even bats an eye when the rumour starts to spread. It's completely believable that Janice Ramsey overheard Santana apparently boasting to her fellow cheerleaders about how she has Rachel Berry convinced she's in love with a complete ghost. Apparently, Santana explained that she drew on Brittany's 'flexibility' and Quinn's general 'snark' to appeal to Rachel's desires, and it was really just 'too easy.' When asked _why_ , all she had to say was 'Why not?' and the stage was set.

The pitying looks start after third period, and Rachel is sorely tempted to take a note out of Quinn's book and skip the day entirely. She almost snaps when Ian and Stacey catch her between classes with obvious and definitely-unwanted sympathy in their eyes. She wants to scream at them that it's all their fault. She wants to yell and shout about the fact that they didn't _listen_ to the words she wrote in her letter.

Because she's who she is, Rachel just nods at their words, accepting their 'condolences,' and then politely walks away.

She doesn't even have to fake the crippling anger and crushing hurt that shows on her face as she goes.

* * *

"Hey, have you heard from Quinn at all today?"

Rachel sighs heavily as she turns to look at Kurt, resisting the urge to snap at him. It's been a trying day, and she's irritated and exhausted and she just wants to go home. "No, Kurt," she says, sighing. "Quinn hasn't contacted me today. Why? Did she say something?"

"No, she hasn't," he says, frowning. "She told me she was going to email me the revised speech, and I haven't received anything." His eyes dart to the left, looking down the hallway at all the people who can't stop looking at Rachel with... pity. He doesn't know if these looks are better or worse than what she was experiencing last week. He's sure she just wants them to stop looking at her at all.

Still, he knows she would rather have them looking at her than at Quinn.

Kurt clears his throat. "It's... unlike her."

Rachel can hear something very particular in his tone of voice that forces her to turn her body to face him fully. "You're worried, aren't you?"

"Aren't you?" he immediately asks, and then instantly regrets it. "I'm sorry. Of course, you're worried." He sighs, nibbling at his bottom lip. "Whatever drama's been going on, she's always come through when it comes to her Academics," he says. "It's not like her not to follow through on something like this."

Rachel's done her best not to focus too much on Quinn's absence. It's somewhat easier to deal with the rest of the student body without having to face Quinn today, but Kurt's right when he claims she's been stressing over it.

 _Why_ isn't she here?

She's supposed to be here.

Kurt meets her gaze. "I talked to Brittany earlier, and she says she hasn't heard from Quinn since she and Santana dropped her off last night."

Rachel hears the words he's saying, but she registers something else entirely. It's what Kurt is _not_ saying that turns her blood cold and makes her breath catch. "Do you think - " she starts to ask, and then stops, unsure what she's actually going to say.

"Do I think what?" he questions.

"I don't even know," she says, sighing. "I don't know anything anymore, Kurt."

Humming in sympathy, he draws her into a hug, which she willingly accepts.

"It's never going to end, is it?" she asks, mumbling into his shirt.

"It will," he says. "It's just taking a little longer." His hand rubs slow circles on her back, and at least they can 'explain' this sort of comfort he's giving her in the school corridor during their lunch hour.

She _needs_ the comfort, and he's all too willing to give it to her. She's his best friend, and he _knows_ she would be moving heaven and earth for him if the roles were reversed.

"Do you want to get a dessert burrito?" he asks.

Rachel lets out an unexpected laugh, pulling back to look at him. "If I ate my feelings, I would be six hundred pounds by now."

He shrugs, looking unconvinced. "You're much too vain for something like that, and you know it."

Before she can respond, she spies Santana and Brittany walking down the corridor, _towards_ them. Santana's face is blank, and Brittany looks as if she's been crying.

Rachel's mind immediately takes itself to a place it should _never_ go, and she actually stops breathing.

No.

No, no, no.

Kurt feels her tense up and, from the look on her face, he can practically sense the news that's coming.

"What happened?" Rachel finds herself asking as soon as Brittany and Santana are within hearing distance. She doesn't even care that she's supposed to hate Santana with every fibre of her being. Right now, Santana holds news that Rachel _needs_. "Tell me what happened."

"I got a call from my dad," Santana says soberly. "He told me Quinn called him earlier, asking him to meet her at her house after her parents left. He said she's - she was - " she stops, her mind spinning with all she's been told in the last ten minutes. "Quinn _needed_ my dad. He's - he's a doctor."

It's Kurt who reacts first, his eyes widening. "What? Why? What happened?"

"I think they found out," Santana says, and she sounds like a small child. She's trembling, her eyes pooling with tears. "I think _he_ found out, and he did something, and they want it all to stay hidden behind closed doors, and I - God - I'm _so_ sorry. I'm so sorry, Rachel. I didn't know. I swear I didn't know. I never meant - " her voice catches, and she looks away, trying to compose herself.

Rachel's sure her heart is beating. It must be, because she's still standing, and you have to be alive for that, right? She has absolutely no idea what to say or do in this moment, and she doesn't think her brain is actually working.

Quinn.

Her Pretty Girl.

She needed a doctor.

Because - because -

Rachel nearly jumps a foot in the air when her phone vibrates in her pocket, and she immediately reaches for it. She doesn't know how or why she knows it, but she's certain it's Quinn.

She's not wrong.

* * *

_Pretty Girl: They know, Rachel._

_Pretty Girl:_ _They hired someone to go looking through my laptop while I was out yesterday, and t_ _hey know. They know about me, and they know about you. They know who you are, and who we are to each other._

_Pretty Girl: I'm sorry. I'm so sorry._


	13. XXII, XXIII

**XXII**

**Little Star: Oh my God, Quinn. Are you okay?**

**Little Star: Santana said you called her father. What happened? Are you hurt?**

**Little Star: Why are you sorry?**

Rachel sends the messages immediately, panic washing over her in the worst way. When she started this whole thing with Pretty Girl, she wasn't under the illusion that it wouldn't be difficult. Based on everything Pretty Girl said about her own family situation, Rachel understood there would be some hardships to face, but this all just feels unreal. It doesn't even feel as if it's happening to them.

"What did she say?" Kurt asks Rachel, and the brunette just hands him the phone.

"Shit," he says after a moment. "Shit, shit, shit."

Rachel looks at Santana. "What happens now?"

"I don't know," Santana replies. "That's up to Q."

"Do you know where she is?"

"My dad said she asked him to leave her at home," she says. "I - I don't know why she would stay."

Brittany's face pinches into an unreadable expression, and Rachel suspects the blonde knows. She's tempted to ask, but she would much rather hear it from Quinn. She would much rather 'a lot of things' right now.

"It's probably not a good idea for any of us to go over there," Kurt says, his body tense. "Her parents know about you, and you and you, and I definitely set off gay alarms just by looking at me." He grits his teeth. "Maybe Finn?"

Brittany shakes her head. "Her father wasn't too fond of him when they were dating."

"Puck?" Kurt offers.

"Even worse," Brittany says.

"Shit."

Rachel stares down at her silent phone still in Kurt's hand. This is honestly the _worst_ week for any of this to be happening. She can already feel a migraine brewing, and she has to lean against the lockers to stop herself from falling over or something equally ridiculous. She's had minimal sleep, and her presentation is practically non-existent. She's almost certain she's going to start crying again.

"So, we just wait?" Kurt asks, slight incredulity in his tone. "She's _hurt_. I mean, is she even going to be at school tomorrow? Oh, my God. Our presentation."

Santana rolls her eyes. "I think that's the last thing on Q's mind."

"Probably not," Rachel finds herself saying. "It's probably the _only_ thing on her mind." She looks at Kurt. "I'm sure Quinn won't miss your presentation, Kurt. She'll do whatever it takes to be here."

Santana swallows thickly. "That's the part we should be worried about."

* * *

Predictably, Rachel doesn't receive a response from Quinn, and she has to sit through the last of her lessons feeling antsy and wired. She tries to come up with a plan. Something. Anything.

Despite their group decision, she still has half a mind to drive straight to Quinn's house and -

And what?

What is she going to do?

Burst in and what?

Rachel thinks she should call one of her fathers. They'll know what to do, but that would mean having to divulge everything else that's happened, and she's not quite ready for that yet. She's not ready for any of this, which is a truth that's solidified when she eventually finds out what Quinn is 'sorry' for.

The brunette manages to come up with nearly every scenario imaginable, even _reaching_ for the irrational thought that she's going to arrive home after school and there'll be a hoard of police cars ready to haul her and her fathers away for whatever bogus reason. She definitely wouldn't put it past Quinn's father. The man has had it out for her fathers since he arrived in Lima.

There aren't any cops, though, or any other form of retribution that she knows of when she finally gets home, which does very little to settle her unease, because she comes to learn that Quinn didn't need Dr Lopez because her father hurt her.

She needed him because she hurt herself.

* * *

_Pretty Girl: Can I call you?_

It's late.

 _Really_ late.

But Rachel practically dives at her phone, bypassing a reply and just calling Quinn herself. She isn't going to waste a second, and she lets out a breath of utter and uncontainable relief when Quinn actually _answers_ the phone.

"Hello?"

To her utter dismay, Rachel immediately starts crying. She's just so... _relieved_. There's really no other word for what she's feeling right now. It practically bubbles out of her, and she's five seconds away from turning into a blubbering mess. "God, Quinn," she says on an exhale. "Are you okay?"

"Are you crying?"

She wipes at her eyes, suddenly embarrassed. "I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?"

Rachel shakes her head. "Can we please stop talking about me?" she pleads. "Tell me what happened. Where are you? Are you okay?"

Quinn sighs, and it sounds heavy and burdened. "Where do you want me to start?"

"What happened last night?"

Quinn clears her throat, preparing herself. "My parents were waiting for me when Santana dropped me off," she starts to explain. "They were just sitting there, looking as calm as ever, and I - " she stops. "My laptop was sitting open on the coffee table in front of them. I knew instantly, and I was so tempted to turn and walk right back out."

"Why didn't you?"

"He would have come after me," she says, and she sounds so resigned that Rachel's heart _hurts_. "I thought, maybe, I could explain, you know? I thought I could get through to them that it's not the end of the world that - "

"That you're gay and not going to Harvard?"

Quinn lets out a breath that sounds slightly amused. "They probably would have freaked out less if I told them I was pregnant," she says, somewhat haughtily. "At least, that's something they could hide. They're too Christian for abortion, but they could just hide me away for nine months and then get rid of the problem." She waits a beat. "Homosexuality, not so much. That's not something that's just going to go away, as much as they try."

Rachel closes her eyes, rolling over onto her back on her bed. "We're terrible at looking after technology, aren't we?"

Quinn's unexpected burst of laughter makes Rachel's breath catch. "You're right," she says. "It's either that, or we're just surrounded by complete assholes."

"I think it's actually the latter," Rachel says.

"God, Santana's a bitch," Quinn breathes. "And my father's a fucking bastard."

Rachel isn't sure how to respond to that, so she remains silent.

Quinn takes the cue and continues speaking. "I was on our chat," she explains. "It was open on my computer when they got into it. They asked this kid from church to crack my password, and it was right there for them to see. All of it. Everything we've ever said to each other. All our secrets, just _there_. I feel like such a fucking idiot. I should have been more careful." She growls lowly. "I was reading everything you were sending, but I just didn't know what to say in response. You're more than I deserve, Rachel."

"Don't say that," Rachel immediately counters.

"I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry? You still haven't told me."

"We fought for hours," Quinn says. "They - they want to send me away after graduation. Apparently, they found this corrective camp in Oregon that's supposed to _fix_ me."

Rachel gasps. "What?"

"It's not going to happen," Quinn says sternly. "I'd rather die than have that happen." There's something in her tone of voice that puts Rachel on edge. It's deep and dark and so very haunting. "When they got home, we had another... conversation. They've been making plans, or whatever. They cut off the Internet, and they took away my phone."

Rachel frowns. "But, then, how am I talking to you?"

"Well, I switched out this phone with my old one while they were out during the day," she explains. "It's doubtful they'll notice, anyway, but I don't know how long this line is going to last. I just wanted to call and explain everything."

"What happened?"

"Well, after they left this morning, I kind of broke out of - "

"Wait, what?" she screeches, and then clamps a hand over her mouth. "You broke out of what?"

"Oh," she says. "They, umm, kind of locked me in my bedroom when I threatened to leave last night."

"What!"

Quinn sounds entirely too calm about this. "After they left this morning, I tried picking the lock, but this is one of those old houses, and it has this special kind of latch," she explains, as if she isn't discussing the fact that her parents locked her away and just _left_. "My room is on the second floor, you know, but the window was the only way I could get out."

Rachel can't get the completely horrified look off her face, and she's slightly relieved Quinn can't see it.

"That's how I ended up hurting myself," she says, and she sounds so casual. "I broke out of my own house just to break right in. My phone was in my father's desk, and I called Dr Lopez because - " she stops.

"How did you hurt yourself, Quinn?"

"It's not important."

"I think the fact you feel the need to say that proves that it is," Rachel says. "Is it bad?"

Quinn sighs. "I had to, umm, scale the side of the house to get to where I could land on the grass, and I might have slipped and fallen," she says. "I cut my arm pretty badly, and Dr Lopez says I may or may not have bruised a few ribs, but I would need an X-Ray to confirm, and I can't do that, right now."

"Why not?"

"I'm back in my bedroom," she says carefully. "I - I have to stay here."

"No, you don't," Rachel immediately argues, sitting up.

"I do," she snaps right back, and it's the number one reminder that she's talking to _Quinn Fabray_.

Sometimes, Rachel forgets. It's easy to, because in her mind she's just talking to the girl she loves on the phone, and _who_ she is hasn't ever mattered, which is the way it should be.

Except that it does.

It matters a hell of a lot because of the society they live in.

"Quinn, please," Rachel says.

"They won't let me leave," she explains in a small voice. "They won't, Rachel. I could probably stay in a hotel or with Brittany, but they'll find a way to drag me back. They'll use force. They'll keep me here, or they'll send me away, and I can't - I _won't_ let that happen." She clears her throat. "I just need to make it to graduation. If I can be done with school, then I'll be done with them and with this place, and then I can go. I can go, and _we_ can go, and we can be together."

Rachel's breath catches at the ease at which Quinn says the words. "Do you want that?" she asks, quiet and tentative. "Do you really want that?"

"Yes," Quinn breathes. "I just have to pretend I don't for a few more weeks."

"Oh?"

"I'm sorry," Quinn says. "It's what they talked to me about tonight. They set these rules for the way the rest of the school year is going to go. I'm supposed to go to school and come straight home. My dad is getting me a new phone with a limited plan, and he'll be monitoring my usage. I'll have monitored Internet privileges, and I have to meet with our priest three times a week." She swallows audibly. "I'm not allowed to have any contact with you or with Santana or Brittany, even though they're _on_ my cheer squad. They still expect me to go to Harvard, but they know about Yale now." She coughs, and it sounds as if it hurts. "Oh, did I tell you I got into Columbia?"

"No, you didn't."

Quinn sighs. "At least they don't know that."

Rachel's chest tightens. "Quinn, there are other ways," she says. "We can figure something out."

"No," she says. "There's nothing else. It's just a few weeks. This is the only way to deal with my father, Rachel. If I let him believe I'm cooperating, then there's hope, for both of us."

Rachel's eyebrows. "What does that mean? Quinn, what does that mean?"

The blonde sighs again, sounding utterly defeated. "He knows who you are, Rachel," she says. "He _knows_ who you are and, if he's willing to do _this_ to his own daughter, what makes you think he'll hesitate to do anything to you?"

"Quinn."

"Please let me do this," she practically pleads. "Please let me protect you the way I've been unable to."

"Quinn."

"It's okay, Rachel," she says. "It's okay. I promise it's going to be okay."

"You don't know that," Rachel argues. "You _can't_ know that."

"This is the best I have," she says. "This is all I have. I don't have anything else. Do you understand? Don't you see? There's nothing I can do. It doesn't matter that I'm eighteen or that I've already secured my finances and my freedom, because Russell Fabray doesn't fight fair. He'll ruin me, and you and us and _himself_ before he'll let his own _daughter_ be a _gay_."

Rachel wants nothing more than to wrap her arms around Quinn and just _hold her_. "I don't like this," she says. "You don't have to do this, Quinn. I can come get you. I'll come get you and we can figure out everything else, okay? You're _not_ some kind of prisoner. Please just let me come and get you."

Quinn makes a sound that sounds suspiciously like a whimper, and tears pool in Rachel's eyes.

"Please."

There's silence for the longest time, and then Quinn says, "It's not worth the risk. It's only a couple of weeks."

"Quinn."

"This is the best way, Rachel," she says.

"No, it isn't."

"Right now, it is," she counters. "For me, in this moment, it's the best way." She pauses. "I have a plan."

Despite herself, Rachel laughs. "I don't know how to break it to you, Quinn, but our plans very _rarely_ work out."

" _Your_ plans," she points out. "I'm a ruthless, manipulative bitch, remember? I _have_ to have inherited it from somewhere."

"But we both know you're not actually," Rachel counters.

"I'm not?"

"You only pretend to be," Rachel says. "You do it to deal with familial and societal pressures. You're actually kind and funny and caring and just... wonderful, which is a side of you that you show only to certain people."

"Special people."

"Exactly."

"And you reckon you're one of them?"

"I _know_ I'm one of them."

The banter is easy, less charged or heavy, and Rachel wishes it could always be like this. Well, it _could_. Just, not today.

Quinn clears her throat, clearly preparing herself for a subject change. "There's also another reason I wanted to talk to you," she says, waiting for Rachel's hum of acknowledgement. "I feel - I feel _terrible_ that you have to do your presentation alone. I understand why you decided to do that, but it's just so unfair and I hate that I'm the one who - " she pauses. "Just, well, I wanted to do something for you, and I asked Kurt for some help. I hope you won't be too mad."

Rachel blinks. "What did you do?"

"I used my phone as a personal hotspot a little earlier, and I sent you an email," she explains. "I got your address from Kurt. It should be in your inbox."

Rachel practically leaps to her feet and scurries towards her desk, reaching a level of breathlessness that's a crime. She pulls up her email and, indeed, there is a message from 'quinn_fabray,' and her heart thumps against her ribcage. "What is it?"

"Open it."

Rachel's fingers are shaking as she opens the email, and finds a brief message with a _PowerPoint_ document attached. Her heart hasn't slowed down at all, and it picks right up even more as she downloads the attachment and opens it.

She just stares, her mouth hanging slightly open.

"Quinn?" Rachel squeaks. "What is this?"

Quinn sounds nervous when she finally speaks, the words tumbling out of her mouth. "I - I had a lot of time today," she says. "Kurt sent me your paper, and I built a template for you, with headings and subheadings and some pictures and references, so, technically, we're not actually cheating. I mean, you even said I helped more with your project than Santana did, so it's not a big deal or anything. You'll have to fill things in and add to your speech, but I thought I could try to - " she stops. "Do you hate it? Did I overstep? It's just that you're supposed to present on Thursday, and I imagine all this drama must be making it - "

"I love you," Rachel says, cutting off her truly adorable rambling.

Quinn's mouth snaps shut with an audible clack, and Rachel panics.

"I mean, umm, that - " she stops, defeated as her shoulders slump. "God, have I just ruined it? Please tell me I haven't just ruined it."

There's a beat of silence before Quinn says, "I love you, too," and Rachel dies and goes to heaven. It welcomes her with open arms and she falls into its warm embrace, a blinding smile spreading across her face. Quinn clears her throat. "You still haven't said anything about the presentation."

"I - I don't even _know_ what to say," she confesses.

"Is Rachel Berry speechless?"

"The only thing that keeps coming to mind is 'I love you,'" she says.

"And I'm definitely not complaining," Quinn says; "but I would really like to know that you don't _hate_ it."

"I don't hate it," Rachel says. "At all. It's actually rather perfect. It's wonderful. It's very... _me_. There are stars and the theme is gold, and - " she stops and breathes out slowly. It's all so much, and her heart suddenly feels so full. "Thank you, Quinn. Truly. Thank you, baby."

Quinn lets out a breath that sounds like one of relief, and Rachel smiles to herself. "I'm glad," she says. "I was worried you wouldn't like it."

"Why?"

"I don't know," she says. "I've been known to be somewhat irrational, you know?"

"Who? You?" she teases. "I never would have guessed."

For a moment Quinn says nothing. It's just a moment of complete serenity, merely the sound of their breathing coming through their phones, and Rachel thinks she could listen to Quinn just _breathe_ for the rest of her life.

"Is it," Quinn starts; "Is it weird that I miss you?"

"No, it's not weird at all," she immediately says. "I miss you, too."

"I think the thing I miss the most is just being able to talk to you," she confesses, her voice dropping in volume. "Even when we were just in Juniper's, sitting across from each other... I miss that. Just, talking."

Rachel closes her eyes. "Like we're doing right now?"

"Exactly."

Rachel glances at her computer's screen and grimaces at the sight of the time. She knows, even if she were to end the call with Quinn, she wouldn't be able to go to sleep, so she just switches to speaker and sets the phone down on her desk. "While you're here," she says; "you can help me with my presentation."

"More?" Quinn whines. "Haven't I done enough?"

Rachel hums. "If that's the case, then you should just leave me to work."

"No, no," Quinn quickly says. "I'll help. I'll help. What do you need?"

Rachel smiles to herself, and then proceeds to ask Quinn questions, just to keep her talking. It's obvious neither one wants to go to sleep, but Quinn's words start to slow just after one o'clock and Rachel can only imagine how exhausted she is. She's adorable as she tries to stay alert, and Rachel wishes she could reach through the phone and touch her.

"Quinn," Rachel whispers. "I think it's time for you to go to sleep."

"No," she says petulantly.

"But you're already half asleep."

"Am not."

Rachel can just imagine what Quinn was like as a child, when she was younger and innocent and less broken. She had to have been the cutest kid in the world, and Rachel makes a mental note to ask Quinn for some pictures. "Quinn?"

"Rachel?"

"You have to go to sleep now," she says gently. "You have a big day tomorrow."

"I do, don't I?"

"What time are you meeting Kurt?"

She coughs, and then sighs. "Early."

"Will - will I get to see you?"

"My father will have eyes everywhere," she says in a whisper. "I don't - I don't want to risk it."

"So, I don't get to see you in _public_ , is what you're saying?"

Quinn chuckles softly, and Rachel's heart smiles. "If you can get me alone, then, by all means, do it."

"I will."

"Okay."

"Quinn?"

"Hmm?"

"Go to sleep."

"I don't want to."

"Why?"

"I'm scared."

"Of what, baby?"

"What if tonight is the last time we get to talk?" Quinn asks softly. "What if, when I wake up tomorrow, my phone is cut, and I'm watched like a hawk, and I won't be able to talk to you? What if this is it for now? What if you forget about me? What if - "

"Quinn," Rachel gently interrupts. "I'm going to see you tomorrow. And the day after that, and the one after that." She takes a deep breath. "I will never forget about you. Be serious. I _love_ you. I don't like the fact that you feel the need to do any of this, but we're going to get through this, and then we're going to be together. We're going to be happy."

"Do you really think so?"

"I do."

Quinn yawns cutely. "I should go to sleep."

"You should go to sleep," Rachel echoes. "I will see you tomorrow."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

"Goodnight, my little star," she whispers.

"Goodnight, my pretty girl."

Quinn sighs happily. "I love you."

Rachel's eyes close tightly, and she practically squeals because she's pretty sure she will never tire of hearing Quinn say those three precious words to her. "I love you, too."

Quinn doesn't hang up, and neither does Rachel.

"I love you," Rachel says again. "Everything is going to be okay. You'll see."

Quinn hums in acknowledgement.

Rachel hangs up long after Quinn has fallen asleep.

* * *

**Little Star: One day, when we're old and grey, we're going to look back on this part of our lives and it'll just be a distant memory. I hope this is as hard as it gets, Quinn. And, even if it isn't, and we end up facing further hardships, we'll always get through it. Maybe, right now, you feel as if you have to do it alone (I'm both okay and not okay with that) but I'm always going to be here.**

**Little Star: Because I love you. I love you, and I wish you would let me make you happy. I know I can. You get to have that, Quinn. You get to have to have happiness, and you get to have me.**

* * *

.

* * *

**XXIII**

"Did you see her?"

Kurt actually laughs, because Rachel is practically vibrating in front of him. "Did I see who?"

Rachel swats at his arm. "Don't mess with me, Kurt," she says. "Did you see Quinn? How is she? Did you practice your presentation? Are you nervous? How is - "

"Rachel," he interrupts with a laugh. "Quinn is _fine_ ," he says. "She's a little subdued and jerky. It's obvious she's injured in some way, but she looks fine. The presentation is twenty minutes of my life I'll probably never get back." He grins at her. "Having said that, it's going to be the best damn presentation you've ever seen."

Despite herself, Rachel laughs. "So, you're good, then?"

Kurt nods. "We _both_ are," he says. Then, quietly, he adds, "She asked me to give this to you," as he reaches in his coat pocket for a folded piece of yellow paper.

"What is it?"

He shrugs. "A love letter. I don't know. Do you want it or not?"

Rachel snatches it from his hand, smiling to herself. "Thank you, Kurt," she says as she slips the note into the front pocket of the shirt she's wearing. She's not going to read it in public, because Quinn has been known to say a few saucy things, and Rachel _knows_ she's bound to react.

"You seem... less devastated than you were yesterday," Kurt points out, entirely too knowingly. "Did something happen?"

She immediately blushes. "We... talked," she says softly. "Did you know what she was going to do? About my presentation?"

"No," he says; "what did she do?"

Rachel resists the urge to gush as she grabs the last of her books and closes her locker door. She waits until they're on their way to class to tell him what Quinn did for her, and his over-the-top reaction is why he's her best friend. To imagine that, just a few months ago, he was convinced Quinn wasn't who she said she was.

But, she is.

She's exactly who she said she is, and so much more.

She's _real_ , and she's everything.

* * *

Rachel has always had an odd sense of admiration for Quinn's sense of confidence. Even before she was hopelessly in love with her, it was something she took note of, and today is no exception. Quinn stands tall at the front of the classroom, foregoing her Cheerios uniform for the presentation and looking very - sexy and - professional in tailored black slacks, a pressed white shirt and a deep red blazer.

Quinn Fabray looks good enough to eat, and Rachel Berry isn't the only one who's drooling.

Kurt keeps shooting Rachel amused looks as he and Quinn get set up with the projector, but Rachel can't bring herself to react to it. Her eyes are solely on Quinn, the way she moves, slightly jerky and stilted, and the way she avoids looking at her, Santana and Brittany. Maybe Quinn is just being paranoid, but Rachel is willing to accept it. It's obvious the blonde knows more about the situation than she does.

So, Rachel just sits back and watches, because _she's_ allowed to. And, even if she weren't, she doesn't think that she would be able to, anyway. Quinn is _right there_ , and she's _real_. Even though she disagrees with Quinn's 'plan' at the moment, she relieved to _know_. She didn't like being left in the dark, and just knowing where Quinn stands is an ease to her mind and soul.

"All right," Mr Pope says, calling them to attention. "Next up, we have Quinn Fabray and Kurt Hummel. Please give them your full attention, and take note of the required sections for your peer evaluations."

Peer evaluations. Ugh. Rachel almost forgot about that stipulation in the project brief their teacher handed out. Under normal circumstances, Rachel wouldn't worry, but she really needs all the marks she can get. She's not against seeking a sympathy mark, really.

Quinn clears her throat and straightens her spine. The actions bring the classroom to silence, and she risks a smirk. She's entirely too smug about the obvious _power_ she has over her peers. "Good morning," she says, her voice clear and somewhat musical. "My name is Quinn Fabray, and this is my project partner, Kurt Hummel. This morning, we will be presenting to you our project, 'Women Through the Ages: The Fight of Fashion.'"

Rachel can't help her smile as she listens, giving them both her full attention.

Kurt is right about at least one thing, though: it _is_ the best damn presentation Rachel has seen.

* * *

_Dear Little Star,_

_Last night, I saw the future._

_I don't usually remember when I dream, which is something that's been true since I was rather little. It never used to bother me, but then life just started to become too hard, and I wished for any form of reprieve. I wished to be able to recall my dreams, because they had to be better than my parents' endless scrutiny and the threatening gay panic. I just wanted an escape._

_And then I met you._

_Sometimes, I forget I was the first person to contact you after I read you were from Lima in that NYU chat room, and I'm always so relieved when I remember you actually replied to me. Honestly, what were you thinking? I've never actually asked you why you did that, but I think I know. You were looking for a friend too, weren't you? You were looking for a way to escape as well, and I'm really glad to have been that for you._

_Is it cliche to say you've turned out better than what I ever could have dreamed? Gosh, I just read that back, and I think I just answered my own question. I don't care, though, because I got to meet you and talk to you, and you've made for a rather exciting few months. When I first wrote to you, I never thought I would fall in love with you. I don't know how anyone could have seen that coming, but it did, and I don't regret it. I regret a lot of other things, but never my feelings for you. They're immense, and they're real._

_I just want you to know that, LS. In fact, I NEED you to know that, because the next few weeks are going to be hard. It's already difficult, because all I want to do is talk to you every second of every day. I want to be able to touch you and hold you and kiss you and love you, but it's not yet time._ _I need you to know that I have a plan (that may or may not work) and, when the time does come, we're going to be great. You and I, we're going to be wonderful._

_Because I saw the future, LS, which really means that I saw you._

_So, I'm asking for some patience and some time, because we're going to get there._ _You were right. I do get to have happiness, and I do get to have you. We're going to be happy. We're going to be together, for_ _forever._

_I know it, because I've seen it. You and I, we're going to rule the world._

_I love you, Rachel Berry._

_I can't wait to spend every day of the rest of my life with you._

_Yours,_   
_Pretty Girl_


	14. XXIV

**XXIV**

For days, it's as if nothing has happened.

Despite the fact that she doesn't have Pretty Girl constantly chirping in her phone, Rachel almost forgets that her love-life has been derailed by... well, _so many things_. If she focuses on schoolwork - her presentation went surprisingly well, given the lack of preparation and overwhelming amount of work it required - and her job at Juniper's and rehearsing for Nationals and trying to avoid anything to do with Prom, she thinks she can get through these last few weeks she's starting to refer to as the 'Dark Days.'

For Rachel, life is just that.

Life.

Going through the motions.

Trying not to think about Quinn.

Failing not to worry about Pretty Girl.

Life seems to have lost its sparkle and, after a few days, she has to concede that trying to get Quinn alone is just an impossible and thankless task. It's as if the entire school is conspiring against Rachel, because her blonde girlfriend (are they even still girlfriends?) is constantly surrounded by cheerleaders or a group of jocks. Rachel can tell she's uncomfortable, but Quinn pretends well. She's had years of practice. Her mouth smiles, but her eyes are somewhere else entirely.

Still, Rachel worries. If Quinn isn't fooling _her_ ; how can she think she's fooling her father?

But, then again, Rachel suspects she knows Quinn far better than her own father does.

All of her friends do.

* * *

Rachel hears about it from Kurt. After two weeks of, well, nothing, she can't even be surprised that _something_ is happening, and it has the entire school... buzzing. She can hear the chatter, but she isn't brave enough to ask what it's about. If it means _she's_ no longer the topic of school conversation; she'll take it.

People have generally been sympathetic to her plight. For a while, she supposes it was nice for them to be able to believe in love being able to conquer anything and everything... and then they learned that she actually fell in love with a ghost and, while morbidly amusing, the belief is suddenly just gone. Out of hundreds and thousands of students, only a handful knows that the fairytale actually exists.

Except, in this particular story, there's no evil stepmother; just a depraved father.

So, it's her best friend who eventually breaks the news to her. He does it gently, preemptively wrapping an arm around her shoulders and guiding her out of the school building with the intention of treating her to a dessert burrito for lunch. He says the words while they're walking, like ripping off a _Band-Aid_ or something.

It's the best way, she knows, but the words coming out of _anyone's_ mouth probably would have the same effect. Really, stringing the words 'Sam Evans asked Quinn to Prom, and she said yes' in any voice and from any mouth would have resulted in the exact same reaction.

Rachel stops walking immediately, utter devastation clouding her features. She stares at him, silently willing him to take it back; to say it's some kind of mistake and he's just messing with her, which would actually be a really horrible thing for him to do. Her eyes are wide, almost pleading. She _needs_ him to say it's just a nasty rumour, and that it _doesn't_ mean what it means.

Whatever it means.

Breathing a defeated sigh, Kurt gets them walking again, practically guiding her through the corridor. "Apparently, he's been asking her for weeks now, and she finally agreed yesterday," he explains as gently as he can, which doesn't seem to be having the desired effect. Rachel actually seems to be shrinking in size.

"Weeks?" she questions softly.

Kurt blinks. "She didn't tell you," he states rather than asks, suddenly understanding. "She _was_ saying no, Rachel," he weakly defends.

"Then, why did she say yes now?"

Kurt doesn't have a response for her. "I - I think you know the answer far better than I ever would," he informs her.

And, the thing is, Rachel _does_. Whatever Quinn's elusive plan is, this must be part of it. She's playing into her father's hands, giving him whatever he wants until she can finally leave. What she doesn't understand is _why_ this plan is even necessary. Quinn could leave. She really could.

Well, if she wanted to.

* * *

How Rachel manages to get through the rest of her lessons and Glee is a complete miracle. She's distracted and sporting a heartache of epic proportions, and it's taking every ounce of her control not to rise to her feet and slap the smug smile off Sam's stupid face. It's not as if she doesn't like the boy. He's decent enough, she supposes, but she's never felt such a visceral hatred for another human being before and she's not sure she likes it.

This is what Quinn has done to her.

This is what Quinn is _constantly_ doing to her.

Rachel has to remind herself this is just the hard part before the good part.

The _great_ part.

She's so lost in thought that Kurt has to tap her on the shoulder a few times, just to get her to concentrate on whatever Mr Schuester is saying. The rest of the world is just happening around her, and she knows she's going to have to snap out of this... funk before it derails _everything else_. It's starting to show, and she casts a look at her teacher, absently noting the lines of worry in his features.

Mr Schuester has been... lenient, because he's not unsympathetic to what he believes she's been through, but Nationals are two weeks away and he would really love to have his best performer on her A-Game. He's been planning to talk to her about it, but he's still not sure how to go about bringing up that conversation.

In the end, he needn't have worried because, the second he mentions the words 'solo suggestions,' the Rachel he knows and loves is suddenly back with them, her hand immediately flying into the air.

If only for a moment, at least.

He'll take it.

* * *

Rachel wills herself to pretend she's okay right until the moment Mr Schuester says, "I think that's all for today, guys." The second the words leave his mouth, it's as if all the life in her just melts away and she instantly deflates under the weight of her own forced cheer. It feels heavy and burdensome, and she just _really_ misses Quinn. She misses her in the worst way, and she doesn't know how she's supposed to handle three more weeks of this.

It's Prom, and then Nationals, and then graduation. It's only twenty days until this stupid school hands her a diploma and sends her on her way. Rachel is _determined_ for Quinn's hand to be held securely in her own when she takes her first steps into the great big world, and she just hopes that Quinn doesn't _break_ them before they can get a chance to get started.

When everyone starts leaving the choir room, Rachel doesn't move. She just stays in her seat and absently rummages through her own pack of sheet music in her search for the ultimate solo. It's generally a... 'given' that she'll be performing the solo, and she just has to pick the perfect song. Based on the endless whirlwind of emotions she's currently experiencing, she doesn't think she's going to have much luck. With the way things are going, she's probably going to end up belting out an Evanescence song.

"Are you ready to go?" Kurt suddenly asks, moving to stand in front of her with a cautious smile.

His voice seems to startle her out of her thoughts, and she smiles shakily at him. "I think I'm going to stay a while," she says, her eyes already back on the sheet music in her hands. Her gaze is safe there, because then he can't see what she's really feeling. He's always been able to read her.

Still, Kurt looks worriedly at her. "Are you sure?"

She nods. "I think I'd just like to be alone with my music for a little while," she says. "I think I need it." She knows she needs to do something to help her general demeanour before she goes home and faces her fathers. She doesn't think she has the strength or the guile to avoid their inquisitive questions and general _care_. So, she just needs a moment to collect herself and convince herself that everything really is going to be okay.

Somehow.

Some day.

Kurt can understand that, at least, but he doesn't necessarily like it. How can he? She's his best friend, and it's his responsibility to make her feel better when the rest of the world is determined to drag her down. He's supposed to _know_ how to fix this and bring a smile back to her face. He's supposed to -

"Kurt," Rachel says, frowning up at him. "I promise I'm okay. I just need to wrap my head around what Quinn is forcing herself to do. I'm fine, really. Just, a little caught off guard, and jealous and, yeah, I'm hurt, but I know it's not real. I _know_ it's me she wants. It just - " she stops, sighing. "It just _sucks_."

He steps towards her, gently smoothing a hand over her hair. "Rachel Berry," he says, and she looks up at him, just about managing a smile. "Will you go to Prom with me?"

Rachel lets out an unexpected laugh, and then grins. "Are you sure?"

He nods. "Everyone already knows we're both gay," he says with a shrug. "We can _really_ prove it to them."

She shakes her head in amusement. "You already have your outfit picked out, don't you?"

"Oh, Sweetie," he jokes with a tilt of his head; "I've had it planned since I was six years old. It's really a wonder I even _attempted_ to deny I was gay." He rolls his eyes at himself. "I am _so_ gay. There isn't even enough flannel on this earth to prove otherwise."

Rachel giggles genuinely, her smile less taxing. "I would be honoured, Kurt," she eventually says, sobering slightly. "Thank you."

He waves a hand in gentle dismissal. "We don't really have much time to get our outfits in sync," he says. "Tomorrow afternoon, your ass is mine."

Setting her music sheets aside, Rachel slowly gets to her feet. "As much as you can be a diva," she says carefully; "you're still the best friend anyone could ever want." She waits only a beat before she wraps him in her arms, saying 'thank you' through her actions, rather than her words. "I don't even know what I would do without you."

"I think you'd be fine," he says, trying to curb the depth of _feeling_ this conversation is threatening. He's not emotionally ready for this.

When Rachel releases him, she offers him one last smile. "I know you're worried, but I promise I'm fine."

"It just sucks?"

"Like you wouldn't believe."

* * *

Rachel is an hour into her unplanned additional practice when she receives an unexpected visitor. If she's being entirely honest with herself, she isn't exactly surprised that Quinn has sought her out, but the sight of her blonde _does_ raise her anxiety levels. She _knows_ Quinn is worried about stepping out of line, and the fact that she's risking this interaction merely proves how important whatever she has to say actually is.

Quinn hurriedly locks the door, and then sinks to the floor, hiding herself from any prying eyes that would dare to look through the glass window of the door. She's slightly breathless and flushed, and Rachel can't help but stare at her. God, she's just so damn beautiful.

"Hey," Quinn finally says. "I thought I would find you here."

"What are you doing?" Rachel immediately asks, spinning in her position at the piano and regarding the blonde on the floor with curious eyes.

"I had to talk to you," she says. "I'm really supposed to be in a meeting with Coach right now, but this is more important." She sucks in a breath. "I need to talk to you about Sam."

Rachel visibly flinches, and she mentally curses herself for her outward reaction.

Quinn's face twists into a pained expression, and the two of them sit in awkward silence for the longest time. They just look at each other, studying respective facial features and committing them to memory.

Eventually, Quinn's breathing slows, and she speaks. "I wanted to explain, but there was no time to do it, and this is enough of a risk, but I just need to tell you that it means _nothing_ ," she starts, rushing her words as if she thinks Rachel isn't going to let her get them out.

Doesn't she know by now that all Rachel wants is to _talk_ to her? Just to be able to look at her, and have her look right back? Really, Rachel doesn't think she's asking for all that much, and she hasn't even actually _asked_. She absently wonders what Quinn would do if she did.

"Quinn," Rachel says on an exhale, bravely rising to her feet and moving closer to the blonde. Quinn is sufficiently hidden here in the choir room, but Rachel can't mistake the sudden flash of fear that lights up her face. "It doesn't have to be like this," she finds herself saying, wishing with all her might that things were different.

Quinn ignores her words, continuing with her explanation. She thinks it's necessary, and she needs Rachel to understand that none of this is what she wants. "He asked me after church yesterday," she says. "My parents were standing _right_ there, and I couldn't - I couldn't say no, Rachel. My father just gave me this expectant look, and my mother and Sam, and Sam's _family_ , they were all just there, just _waiting_ , and I couldn't say no. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

As heartbroken as Rachel is, she can't stand to see Quinn like this. The pain and sorrow and ultimate defeat is so acutely evident in Quinn's twisted features and slump of shoulders that Rachel doesn't think twice about crossing the gulf of space between them and sinking to the floor beside her. Wary of pushing too far, Rachel reaches for one of Quinn's hands and clasps it between both of her own. It's all the comfort she'll offer until Quinn gives any indication she wants more.

Quinn suddenly looks at her face, and then down at their hands. "Do you know how many times I've imagined being able to hold your hand?" she asks, her tone of voice giving away her obvious wonder. Her fingers squeeze Rachel's hand experimentally. "They just... fit," she says.

"They do," Rachel agrees, looking at their hands as well. The contrast in skin colour is also something that just... _fits_.

 _They_ fit, and it's never been so painfully obvious to Rachel until this very moment. Sure, there have been instances where she's noticed that they just seem to click - whether in conversation or that one hug they shared - but this is different. This is just them being _them_ , and it feels _right_.

Rachel can't even be surprised by it all, really, because there has to be some kind of cosmic energy involved. How else could one explain how both girls managed to fall for each other _twice_? The entire concept of 'meant to be' has been somewhat foreign to Rachel - sure, her parents are probably a match made in heaven - and she didn't think she could ever find her own 'soulmate.' But, just having Quinn's hand in hers is _everything_.

"I'm sorry," Quinn says again. "God, I feel as if all we're doing is apologising to each other."

Rachel tilts her head to the side. "Maybe if we get it all out of our system, we won't have to say it for the rest of our lives."

Quinn shoots her an incredulous look. "You don't honestly believe that, do you?"

Rachel shrugs. "A girl can dream."

Quinn sighs. "I'm assuming none of this is what you dreamt?"

"Not quite," she admits, albeit reluctantly. "It's not terrible, though. I mean, I've always wanted to go to Prom with someone who loves me, and I actually get to do that this year."

Quinn arches an eyebrow. Then: "Kurt?"

Rachel nods.

"That's more than I get, at least," Quinn murmurs. "I have a feeling Sam's already booked a hotel room."

Rachel tenses, the sudden pain in her chest actually making her cry out.

Quinn looks at her, alarmed. "I won't," she rushes to say. "Of course, I won't. I would much rather eat needles than ever do... that." She pauses. "With him, at least." She gently bumps Rachel with her shoulder. "I meant what I said, Rachel. I want you and only you, and I know this is difficult. I know this isn't what you planned. Believe me, it's not what I planned either, but we're almost there. Just three more weeks, and then this - " she lifts their clasped hands slightly " - will be an everyday thing."

Rachel still won't allow herself to believe it.

Quinn traps her bottom lips between her teeth, visibly contemplating her next words. She's never actually _said_ them to Rachel's _face_ , and it's a little terrifying. Still, she hasn't shied away from her feelings, and she's not about to start. "I love you," she says, and it feels as if this weight has lifted off her shoulders. This moment, right here, makes everything _real_. There's no turning away from this now. This declaration is monumental. "I'm in love with _you_ ," she emphasises. "I just - I need a bit more time before I can show you just how much I mean it."

Rachel lets out a shaky breath, turning her head to look at Quinn. She just stares, studying the blonde's perfect features as if she's bound to disappear if she blinks for too long. "I - I thought I would be prepared for you," she quietly confesses; "but you seem to be making it very difficult to hold onto my - " she stops.

"Your what?"

Rachel smiles. "You love me?"

Quinn nods. "In all the dangerous ways."

"I don't know what that means."

Quinn eyes dart away for a moment. "I think I consider saying 'fuck it' and just kissing you in the corridor at least fifty times a day," she says.

Rachel's breath catches at _everything_ about that confession, and it takes all of _her_ willpower not to close the barely-existent distance between their mouths. It would be so easy, just to lean forward and 'seal the deal,' as it were. But Rachel won't take what she hasn't been given.

So, instead, she asks for it.

Practically demands it.

"I _want_ you to kiss me," Rachel whispers, her breath warm against Quinn's skin. Their faces are so close together that Rachel can see the faint scar above Quinn's top lip. She's tempted to ask about it, but she wants to think they'll have plenty of time to learn all these things about each other.

The little and insignificant, and the big and monumental things.

 _Everything_.

"I know," Quinn whispers right back, shifting to rest her forehead against Rachel's. The skin to skin contact is almost unbearable, and it practically sets her body on fire. "But, not like this. Not when we're not together the right way. I promised you the perfect first girl kiss, and I intend to deliver the way you deserve, okay? It's not going to be something stolen and hidden behind closed doors. I want to give you more than that. You deserve more than that, and it's going to be a real, true kiss that will take your breath away."

Rachel lets out an amused breath, unable to resist. "You're really talking yourself up there," she teases softly, trying her best not to feel overwhelmed by the strength behind Quinn's words. It's an Unbreakable Vow if she's ever heard one. "Though, it's doubtful you actually need your lips to steal my breath."

Quinn growls lowly. "You're really making it difficult for me _not_ to kiss you," she says.

"You've uncovered my secret plan," she says softly, unable to inject the required amusement into her tone of voice.

Quinn senses it, and she carefully removes her hand from Rachel's hold. With a slight grimace as she shifts her still-healing ribs, Quinn lifts her arm and slides it around Rachel's shoulders, drawing the brunette into her embrace. It's warm and comforting for them both, and Rachel even snuggles into Quinn's side, deftly inhaling the blonde's intoxicating scent.

For a while, everything _hard_ about the world just... disappears. It all feels so unimportant, and Rachel allows herself to sink into this. This. She's literally _cuddling_ with her girlfriend, and it's both everything and nothing. It's still hidden and a secret, but it's _real_.

"It's all going to work out, right?" Rachel asks, her voice barely a whisper.

Quinn presses her lips to Rachel's hairline and leaves them there. "If I have anything to do with it, yes."

Every part of Rachel's body feels numb compared to the mere sensation of having Quinn's lips on her skin. She doesn't think she'll actually survive being kissed by Quinn, so it's a good thing _that_ isn't happening today. She needs to get her affairs in order. At least she knows Quinn will make sure her fathers get her body. Just the thought brings a smile to her face, and Quinn pulls away, curious.

"What?" she asks, arching an eyebrow. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," Rachel says. "Just, you know, I love you, too."

The grin Quinn gives her in response stops Rachel's heart, and there is nothing in this world that could ever take away from this moment. Though, the second she thinks it, they're interrupted by the feel of a vibrating phone. Quinn visibly grimaces as she reaches for it in the inside pocket of the skirt of her uniform. She wouldn't usually have it there, but there would be hell to pay if she didn't answer the phone if either of her parents phoned.

Quinn glares at the phone's screen for a moment, and then shoots Rachel a tired look. "I'm sorry," she says for what feels like the hundredth time. She sucks in a breath, and then answers the phone. "Hello." Her eyes immediately close and she steadies her breathing. "I _told_ you I have a meeting with Coach Sylvester," she says and, if she were speaking to anyone else, the words would be said scathingly. "No. We have Nationals next week Thursday and Friday. I'm her Captain. I don't think it's wildly obscene that I would have to meet with my _teacher_ regarding our squad."

Quinn's clenches her teeth hard enough to look painful, and Rachel can't resist the temptation to trail her fingers along the blonde's tense jaw. Quinn looks at her, surprised, and a tiny smile spreads across her face.

"No," Quinn says into the phone. "Of course not. Jesus. No, I'm not - fine, I'm sorry." She sighs. "Yes. I'm leaving in the next fifteen minutes. God, you can _call_ her and ask her if you want to. I'll give you her number; I'm sure she'll _love_ to speak to the woman who spawned her prized Head Cheerio." She huffs. "I am not being flippant. Fine. Fine! I will." There's a long beat of silence, and then Quinn practically explodes. "No, you're not, because you don't!" she practically yells into the phone, and Rachel jerks back in surprise. "Don't lie to me! You _aren't_ doing this because you love me. This _isn't_ love. Stop kidding yourself, Judy!" Quinn's features harden. "Whatever. I'm leaving now." She hangs up, her fingers pressing down rather harshly on the phone's screen.

Rachel counts three beats of her own heart before Quinn breaks down. There aren't exactly tears - Quinn won't give her parents the satisfaction - but her breaths keep catching and her shoulders are shaking. Rachel immediately wraps her arms around her, trying in vain to shield her from the world.

"She doesn't," Quinn cries. "She doesn't. How can she? She doesn't love me."

Rachel isn't going to offer an opinion on that, she she just hugs Quinn tighter, running a hand up and down her tense back. "You're okay," she whispers into Quinn's soft hair. "You're okay. You're okay." She doesn't know if it's helping, but Quinn does eventually grow quiet. And, when she starts to pull away, Rachel lets her.

Quinn scrubs her face clean of any evidence of her breakdown. "I'm sorry," she says.

Rachel smoothes a hand over her hair. "Baby, please stop saying that."

Despite her rollercoaster of emotions, Quinn smiles toothily at her.

"What?"

"I _really_ like it when you call me that," she says.

"What? Baby?"

Quinn nods.

Rachel smiles at her. "I shall take note of that."

Quinn gives her a curious look, her eyes focused on a spot over Rachel's shoulder.

"What?"

The blonde shakes her head. "It's nothing, really," she says distractedly. "Just, you know, how did I _not_ figure out it was you?"

Rachel rolls her eyes. "Baby, Kurt and I have been asking ourselves that question for _months_."

* * *

"I really should go," Quinn says, even though she makes no move to leave.

Rachel's fingers automatically curl around Quinn's wrist, keeping her in place. "Can I ask you something?"

"You can ask me anything."

"But you might not answer?"

Quinn tilts her head to the side, absently knocking her temple against Rachel's. "I'm reserving the right."

Rachel merely nods, her lips pressed together in thought. "Why are you _really_ doing this?"

Quinn blinks. "Doing what?"

"Bending to their demands?" she asks; "going through with whatever plan you have going on?" She doesn't let Quinn pull away when she tries. "It's okay, Quinn. Just tell me, okay? Let me help. Please let me make this easier for you."

Quinn shakes her head. "Do you know what I see when I close my eyes?" she asks softly.

"What?"

"You," she murmurs. "Your smile, as you stand on a Broadway stage and belt your massive heart out." She looks at Rachel, her eyes boring into the other girl's. "I won't do anything to stand in the way of that, do you hear me? I _won't_."

"Okay."

"My father is a very proud, determined and powerful man, Rachel," she says. "He has the entire church behind him, and we both know he's made your fathers' lives very difficult since we arrived."

"Quinn..."

"I need _something_ ," she says. "I just need _something_ , and then he'll have _nothing_. Do you understand?"

Rachel doesn't think she does, but she still nods. Maybe it's time she talks to her fathers about all of this. Maybe they'll be able to help. Maybe they'll know how to get Quinn safely out of that house before her parents _break_ her.

"It's going to be okay," Quinn says, though she doesn't sound all that confident. "It's going to be okay," she repeats anyway.

"Okay."

Quinn sighs, and then just about manages a smile. "So, do you remember when I asked you about both loving and hating school?"

Rachel nods, recalling the conversation quite clearly.

"Do you still think 'She's my high school love' isn't a suitable sentence?"

Despite how serious she's trying to be, Rachel can't resist the smile that spreads right across her face. "I do believe my opinion on that has changed."

Quinn grins, and it's almost smug. "I thought so," she says, her eyes full of mirth. Then, sensing an end to their time together, she says, "I love you."

Rachel's heart skips a beat. Really, she doesn't think there will be day when she gets used to hearing Quinn Fabray say those perfect, little three words to her. "I love you, too."

Quinn risks a chaste kiss to the tip of her nose. "I have to go."

She instantly deflates. "You have to go."

"Don't pout," Quinn says, equal parts amused and distraught. She _really_ doesn't want to go, but there's already going to be hell to pay for the way her phone call with her mother ended. "I wrote you something."

Rachel immediately perks up.

Quinn fishes for the folded note in the little pocket that holds her new phone. "I spend too much of my Psyche lesson writing this."

"I appreciate it."

Quinn's smile is small, but genuine. "I imagine you do, yes." Then: "I have to go."

"You have to go."

By some force of will, Quinn gets up to leave, and Rachel just about manages to let her.

* * *

_Dear Little Star_

_Seeing as the future is all I have to look forward to these days, I'm going to tell you about this dream I have. Prepare yourself. This one is a doozy. Fluff galore. It's sickly sweet. You might even get a cavity. I hope you have a good dental plan._

_So, in this future dream of mine, we're married. I know. Who knew I would manage to catch such a gorgeous woman, right? That's exactly what you're thinking, isn't it? It's such a relief to know that, even in the future, I know exactly how lucky I am to have you. I feel it right now. Even though we're not together the way we want to be, I know I'm lucky even just knowing you exist. And, maybe you're not really mine right now, but I'm content enough to know that, one of these days, you're going to be my absolutely stunning wife._

_Have I ever told you that? Probably not, because I've done nothing more than constantly freak out about our relationship becoming public knowledge since I learned your identity. I want you to know that I think you're absolutely beautiful, and I sometimes catch myself staring at you a little too long to be appropriate. Brittany constantly has to nudge me to get me to stop because people watch ME much too closely. I know I shouldn't be looking at you, but I can't help it. Do you feel my eyes on you, because I sometimes feel your gaze on me?_

_So, in the future, we're married, and we're happy. We're happy, Rachel, and I almost want the dream to end right there, but it gets so much better. We live in New York, in a really nice place. It's not like my house, which is just too large and cold for anything good to grow. Where we're going to live is big, sure, just enough for us to be comfortable without being impersonal. We both have successful careers. You're a Broadway Superstar (let's not kid ourselves here, you were always going to be) and I'm happy doing whatever it is I'm doing (which I'm still trying to figure out)._

_We have children. Three of them. Two girls and a boy. I don't know how we manage it, but they're a mixture of the both of us. All of them. There are hazel eyes and chestnut hair. Blonde wisps and soulful brown eyes. Maybe, by the time we're old enough, biology has allowed two women to have children. I don't know - this is a dream, remember?_

_And, it's mine._

_But it's also yours._

_I know a lot of things are happening right now, but I don't want any of that to exist in this letter. I just want you to know that, as difficult as this is right now, I'm in this. I WANT this future with you, Rachel, and I'm willing to put in the time to get to it. I want you to know that I think about you constantly, and I stare at you endlessly. I miss you, even when you're in the same room as me. And I love you._

_I love you. I love you. I love you._

_It's all going to be worth it in the end. Look at the future we get to have. Look at where we end up._

_We're happy, Rachel._ _We're happy and, sometimes, that's all that really matters._

_Love,_   
_Pretty Girl_

_P.S. I'm going to save you a dance this Saturday._

_P.P.S. Oh, in the dream, we also have a dog that looks strangely like Apollo._


	15. XXV, XXVI

**XXV**

It's late when Rachel gets home. After Quinn left her alone in the choir room, she couldn't quite bring herself to _do_ anything other than read the blonde's note fourteen times, soaking up the words and desperately trying to envision the same dream. Quinn seems to have a running theme: future happiness.

With her.

Rachel acknowledges that she should feel the weight of such pressure, but she doesn't. They're going to have to work for it, definitely, but she's not backing out now. It's three more weeks of this strange limbo, and then they get to be together the way they both want to. They get to embark on their journey towards that elusive 'happiness.' Rachel definitely isn't backing out now. Especially not when Quinn seems to need _her_ belief and support the most.

Eventually picking herself up from the floor, Rachel packs away her things and gets ready to leave. The choir room has held a lot of memories for her, both good and bad, but she already knows that nothing could ever compare to Quinn Fabray saying the words 'I love you' to her for the first time. A smile splits across her face just from thinking about it, and she's going to hold onto _that_ for as long as she possibly can.

Goodness knows there's little else to hold onto.

* * *

Rachel immediately knows something is up when she gets home. It's just too... quiet. For a moment, she entertains the idea that her parents aren't home, but then she moves into the dark kitchen and finds both her fathers sitting at the kitchen table, hands clasped and looking solemn. The hairs on the back of her neck suddenly stand on end, and she's sorely tempted to back out of the room, and rush up the stairs to lock herself away from whatever _this_ is. She knows it's something serious, and she knows she's not going to like it.

"Rachel, Sweetheart," Hiram says when he spots her. "Come sit with us. We need to talk to you about something."

If that doesn't set off alarms, Rachel doesn't know what else would. They're practically ringing in her ears as she crosses into the room and sits at the kitchen table. It's rather chilly in here, even for mid-May, and she shivers under their collective gaze. What on earth is happening? She hasn't seen them look that morose since... well, never, actually. She has a feeling it has something to do with her, though, and she's definitely not going to like whatever this is.

"Dads," she eventually prompts, unable to handle the silence. "What's wrong?"

LeRoy exchanges a brief look with his husband before addressing his daughter. "Sweetheart, do you have any idea why my job would suddenly be called into question by the entire Lima Catholic community?"

Rachel just stares at him, sure that she's not hearing him correctly. "Wait. What?"

They exchange another look, and then LeRoy starts to explain. "A few weeks ago, this kid came into the ER. He was about fourteen, maybe fifteen, suffering from injuries that looked like the result of some kind of ATV accident. It was bad." He stops and clears his throat. "It was in the middle of a busy shift. There'd been an pile-up in town, and we had a number of ambulances coming in, and it was just chaos. So, this kid gets brought in, and I was assigned to him. You have to understand, Rachel. It was bad. _He_ was bad. It was practically a formality that they even brought him in." He shudders at that, and then shakes his head. "My job is to assess and basically patch up as much as I can before getting incoming patients to the OR. I'm a trauma surgeon, Rachel. I deal with triage every day.

"I don't for a second think I did anything wrong because it was impossible to save him, but the kid ended up dying. Well, he was braindead, and his family had to come in to do one of the hardest things they will probably ever have to do and decide to end life support. I don't wish that kind of pain on anyone." It's here that he straightens slightly. "This morning, I received a notification that the family intends to sue for malpractice."

Rachel frowns. "This morning?"

"I was flummoxed too," LeRoy says. "When it happened, they seemed to understand that there was nothing we could do. They _knew_ , and they signed the forms, and nobody - _nobody_ \- could have saved him. I did everything I could, which is why this is all so out-of-the-blue and surprising."

Rachel blinks, unsure what exactly he's trying to tell her.

"It turns out that the lawyer filing the suit is Russell Fabray."

Rachel's stomach immediately bottoms out, and she's convinced she's going to be sick. She blinks repeatedly, trying desperately not to -

To what?

God, is the going to vomit?

"He's calling into question my ability to perform my job because that boy died under my care," LeRoy says, suddenly tense. "And he's using the church to perpetuate that I'm an unfit doctor because I'm gay."

And, suddenly, Rachel _gets_ it.

This is _why_ Quinn is going along with her father. If the man is willing to ruin another man's entire career just to keep his daughter in line; she shudders to think what he would be capable of doing to -

To _her_.

Oh.

Quinn said her father was a proud, powerful man.

Rachel visibly pales, and Hiram reaches out to touch her arm, suddenly worried.

"Rachel," Hiram tries, obvious worry etched into his features. "Sweetheart, are you okay? What's been going on?"

Rachel instantly deflates. She knows there's no way of keeping any of this hidden anymore. It was already difficult enough just having a crush on Quinn, and then finding out Quinn was Pretty Girl, and then _Santana_.

Dammit, Santana.

There's a moment - the longest - where Rachel considers what her life would be like if she never responded to SkySplits94's first message. It could have been so easy to assume the person behind the name was a bot or some middle-aged man living in his mother's basement in Detroit trying to lure her into something sinister.

But, no.

Rachel, ever starved of attention and affection from her peers, jumped at the opportunity to converse with someone who didn't _know_ her. She gave of herself, willingly embarking on a friendship that was, in all intents and purposes, never _really_ a friendship. She was hooked from the very beginning, practically swooning over the other girl's words.

Then she did the _thing_ and fell in love.

And everything has been one fine mess ever since.

Rachel sucks in a breath, and releases it slowly. She doesn't quite know where to start but, when she does convince herself to start speaking, she can't bring herself to stop. The words just come tumbling out, like a burst dam, and the tears follow moments later. They're unstoppable and strangely cathartic, and she just about manages to get through everything, telling them all the events leading up to this exact moment.

Whatever reaction she's expecting to get - anger and comprehension and accusation - the sheer horror she sees on her fathers' faces stumps her.

Hiram looks aghast. "They locked her in her room?" he practically screeches, and Rachel actually flinches at the volume of his voice.

LeRoy puts a calming hand on his husband's leg, effectively keeping him in his seat. "Why didn't you tell us, Sweetheart?" he asks, forcing himself to stay calm and composed.

Rachel thinks he tacks on the 'Sweetheart' in an attempt to show her he's not actually mad at her, but it doesn't quite work because his tone of voice shoots a shiver down and then back up her spine. "Uh..." she tries, and fails. "I don't know." She looks down at her hands. "Quinn asked me to let her do it her way, and I guess I thought that wouldn't happen if you knew. I just - I didn't think it would lead to _this_."

LeRoy's brow furrows in thought, and it reminds Rachel of Quinn in the oddest way. Oh, Quinn. "What exactly is Quinn's... plan?" he eventually asks.

"I don't know," she confesses. "If I'm being perfectly honest, I don't think she does either. It just feels as if she's waiting for something. Like, she expects her father to slip up at some point, and then she'll move on the offensive." She coughs for a moment, clearing her throat. "She keeps talking about graduation, though. Like, it's the moment she predicts everything is going to come to a head, and I just _know_ I should be worried about that."

LeRoy and Hiram _know_ they should be worried too.

"Daddy," Rachel says. "What's going to happen now?"

LeRoy opens his mouth to speak, and then closes it. "I - I don't know."

Hiram deflates, sitting back in his chair. "You should have talked to us, Rachel," he says. "We could have - "

"What?" she interrupts, mild annoyance in her tone. "What could you have done? We can't _do_ anything. Quinn is alone, practically a prisoner in her own home, and there's _nothing_ I can do." The tears spring to her eyes again, and she chokes on a sob. "I can't even talk to her," she cries. "I barely get to see her and, when I do, it looks like more and more pieces of the girl I am so ridiculously in love with are dying. She's - she's just disappearing before my eyes, desperately trying to hold onto _something_ , and there's just nothing. There's nothing I can do, and I hate this. I hate this!" She buries her face in her hands, rage and hatred swirling behind her leaking eyes. "It wasn't supposed to be like this! It wasn't! We were supposed to be _happy_."

Hiram rises from his seat and walks around the table to wrap his arms around his daughter. "And, you will be," he murmurs into her soft hair. "It's just going to take some time to get there."

"Quinn is always saying that."

Hiram just hums.

"It's never going to be easy, is it?"

Hiram looks at his husband over the top of his daughter's head, and a world of pain exists between them. "No, Sweetheart," he says, entirely too truthful. "It will probably always be a struggle for your rights and acceptance. I mean, look at us." He sighs. "As difficult as it may all be, you're going to have to decide if it's worth it."

"It is," she immediately says, sounding forceful. " _She_ is."

Hiram nods his head as he straightens and slowly releases her. "I don't want you to worry too much about what's happening with your Daddy," he says. " _We_ are going to figure that out. You worry about you, okay? We're going to work this all out, and we're going to come up with a way to get Quinn out of that house, okay?"

Rachel is inclined to believe them, but even she recognises the _doom_ of this entire situation. She can barely see a way out, and she's been stupid to think the worst is over. Whatever Quinn has planned, it's probably not going to work. Even if they _do_ manage to get her out and keep her father from, essentially, kidnapping her in the middle night, what's going to happen _afterwards_? What happens to Rachel's parents after graduation? And, if they do end up going to New York together; are they ever going to be able to come back here?

LeRoy just about manages to smile reassuringly at her. "It'll work itself out," he says, and it sounds more convincing when he says it, but Rachel will never say that out loud.

Sensing an end to the current conversation - there's bound to be plenty more in the coming weeks - Hiram clears his throat. "So, dinner anyone?"

* * *

Rachel doesn't get any peaceful sleep. She's restless and her mind is spinning. Quinn's father is going after her own. It's a lot to wrap her head around, and she wants nothing more than to talk to Quinn right about now. Just to hear her voice, or even to read her words telling her that everything is going to be okay.

One glance at her nightstand tells her it's just gone two o'clock in the morning, and she just knows that she's going to be a grumpy bag of utter joy in the morning. She tosses and turns for another twenty minutes before she snaps at herself and reaches for her phone. She _knows_ Pretty Girl's phone has been cut, but she needs to say the words more than she needs Quinn to hear them.

**Little Star: I know you probably won't ever see this, but I just want you to know that today is the first day you told me you loved me. To my face. You said the words, and I can tell that you mean them, and it makes this entire situation so much LESS. I don't know what's going to happen in the next few weeks, but just knowing that you actually love me - ME, Rachel Berry - doesn't make it seem all that scary. We're going to work it out. I just know it.**

**Little Star: Just wanted to let you know. I'm thinking about you. (I'm always thinking about you). I hope you're having better sleep than I am, and I'll see you at school tomorrow. Goodnight, my pretty girl :***

**Little Star: I love you.**

* * *

.

* * *

**XXVI**

"This is the one," Kurt suddenly declares, _loudly, drawing_ the attention of several shoppers in the boutique store.

Rachel ducks her head in an attempt to scream to the universe: 'I'm not with him!' but she doesn't think it works. Kurt is enjoying himself a little too much for her liking. Everything he says and does is probably designed to embarrass her, and it's working. God, he can be such a brat sometimes.

Kurt hands her a long, flowing dress that's peach in colour. "Do you want to try that on?"

Rachel, admittedly, likes this particular dress. It's a nice colour that will work well with her skin tone. She's imagined what her Prom would be like a million times - it usually involved attending with her high school boyfriend and riding in a limousine with _all_ her many friends - but it was never like this.

Never.

Even in her wildest dreams.

Firstly, there's no boyfriend. Which is okay, she muses. It's just that there's no girlfriend either, and it's a bitter pill to swallow.

Secondly, she has... very few friends.

No, she has Kurt.

 _Just_ Kurt, which is also something she probably wouldn't have if Mercedes Jones hadn't irreparably ruined her own friendship with him by letting her own _divaness_ come between them. Somehow, for whatever reason, Rachel and Kurt manage to make it work. They clash, sure, but they've both come to accept where their respective talents lie. They can be brutal with their honesty, but it doesn't come from a place of 'pride' anymore.

Not like with Mercedes.

Rachel lifts her gaze to meet Kurt's. "Is this the one, really?" she asks quietly, unable to keep her insecurities out of her voice.

She trusts him, of course, but there was a time when he dressed her up rather _suspect_ when she was attempting to gain Finn's affection. He later confessed that Quinn might have put the idea in his head, but he's the one who went along with it. Rachel thinks that, once all this is over, the three - four, if they include Finn - are going to have to have a proper sit down and have a long talk about everything that happened during their truly forgettable sophomore year of high school.

"I think so," he says softly, all too aware of what she's probably remembering. He feels a flare of guilt in his chest, but he's come to accept that the two of them have managed to move past that. Somehow. "Try it on, so we know for sure. I just have this feeling."

Nodding once, Rachel quietly disappears into the changing rooms and carefully slips into the dress with a painfully heavy heart. She _wants_ to be excited about every part of this, but it's tainted with something ugly. Like, some kind of shadow is hanging over all of them and, though she vaguely recalls what he looks like; Rachel imagines the shadow to be shaped like Russell Fabray.

Rachel wants to trust her fathers when they say it's all going to work out, but she can't. She just _can't_. Quinn is terrified of the man, which means he's capable of some dark and horrible things. Quinn would know that better than anyone, she supposes, which is such an ugly thought that she shuts her eyes so tightly that she sees white spots when they eventually open again. It forces her body to shudder and she hates this. She _hates_ this with every fibre of her being.

Why does it have to be so damn _hard_?

When Rachel finally steps out, fabric bunched in her hands as she carefully walks back out for Kurt's inspection without tripping; she's just about managed to school her features into something borderline pleasant. She can do this. She sort of told Quinn that she could, and she's determined to prove to both of them that these speed bumps in their quest to be together are going to be overcome.

"Wow," Kurt says, his voice soft. It's a sure sign that he really means it. His eyes are even shining with _something_ she doesn't quite recognise, and her heart lurches at the sight.

"What's wrong?" she asks self-consciously, ducking her head as if studying the dress more closely. Is something out of place?

"Nothing," he immediately says, shaking himself. "It's just, well, you look so beautiful, Rachel," he says, and his expression turns so soft that Rachel barely recognises him. As a gay teenager trying to navigate through small town life in Lima, Ohio; there's always been something particularly _hard_ about him. "Quinn isn't going to know what hit her."

Rachel accepts it. "You think so?"

"I know so."

Rachel smiles at him, and it's a genuine one. "I guess this really _is_ the one, then."

* * *

Kurt and Rachel head to Juniper's together, Rachel's dress and Kurt's matching bowtie secure in the back of Rachel's car. Her fathers let her use their card to make the purchase, and she feels a sliver of excitement at the prospect. She has a dress and she has a date, and she's determined for Saturday's festivities to go well. It'll hurt at some points, she's sure, but she's determined.

Marty greets them both as they walk into the kitchen. He's wearing a knowing smile that makes Rachel raise her eyebrows, but he says nothing more. Rachel glances at Kurt, who just shrugs. He doesn't know what's going on, either.

"You're early," Marty says to Kurt.

Kurt just shrugs again. "I thought I'd just work on my homework and keep you two company," he says. "That okay with you, Your Majesty?"

Marty just grunts in response.

Rachel shakes her head amusedly at their interaction, quietly slipping into her apron and tying up her hair. It takes her a moment more to turn into Work-Rachel. Out of habit, she checks her phone for any messages from Pretty Girl. It's been difficult to break, but her heart does lurch when there's a text from an unknown number. She wastes only a second to open it, and then sort of dies and goes to heaven.

 _Rachel. It's Quinn. This is Britt's number, by the way. I borrowed her phone after Cheerios because, well, I just really miss you, which I know is a little pathetic. Britt thinks it's cute, but that remains to be seen. I also just wanted to say hello, you look beautiful today and I love you. I LOVE YOU_.

_You can text me on here, if you want to. I don't know how often I'll be able to reply (I'm technically not supposed to be interacting with B either), but Cheerios is sacred, I guess. With Nationals next week, I guess I can get away with staying out longer. Whatever. You don't HAVE to text me, of course. Don't feel obligated to or anything like that, but if you did, that would be great too._

_Britt says I'm a dork. Some 'better' friend she is._

_Anyway, I should go. I have to get back before they send out the search party with their pitch forks and flaming torches. I love you. X_

Rachel melts on the spot, and she's forced to lean against the counter to keep herself upright. She imagines Quinn getting flustered at her own text-rambling, and she grins at the sudden adorableness that flashes in her mind. It's true that she and Quinn haven't really been able to spend a lot of _time_ together, but she thinks she knows enough about the blonde to picture her in this moment.

Rachel saves the contact, absently wondering why she didn't have Brittany's number in the first place. Maybe she changed it since their brief stint in Glee what feels like a lifetime ago. She knows she's going to reply - of course, she is; what is Quinn thinking? - but she's unsure what to say. Should she censor herself because it's Brittany's phone? Declarations of love are coming easier to them now, and she's determined not to have them both regress in the wake of this next speed bump.

It's while she's pondering her next course of action that Kurt peers over her shoulder. "Something saucy?" he asks, and Rachel almost jumps out of her skin. Kurt laughs loudly. "Something you'd like to share with the class?"

Shrugging, Rachel hands him the phone, and watches as a grin spreads across his face.

"Your girl is a bit of an adorable rebel, isn't she?" he says, handing back the phone. "Or, she just _really_ misses you, which is completely understandable."

Rachel eyes him curiously. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

He exaggerates a gasp. "What are you talking about? I'm _always_ nice."

"Like hell you are," she mutters. "What's going on with you?"

Kurt shakes his head. "Maybe I just decided you needed a _day_ ," he offers. "Don't read too much into it. I'll be back to normal tomorrow."

Rachel throws him a genuine smile, fighting her desire to hug him. Today _has_ been quite the _day_. "You make the mistake thinking you're _ever_ normal."

"You would me, Berry," he says, clutching at his chest dramatically.

She swats at his upper arm, wanting to hug him all over again.

"That reminds me," he says, pointing at her phone. "What are your thoughts on the whole Finn and Brittany thing?"

Rachel resists the urge to roll her eyes. "For a moment there, I thought Finn was playing with fire asking her to go to Prom with him like that," she says. "I mean, I get that Santana is in the proverbial 'doghouse' when it comes to Brittany, but he's definitely brave to be getting in the middle of all of _that_."

Kurt nods. "He's probably doing us all a favour, though," he says thoughtfully. "He's the only one who really _knows_ why Brittany's mad at Santana, and it'll stay contained if Brittany ends up slipping up."

"Who's Santana going with?"

"I heard a rumour she's planning on going stag, but my bet is she'll manage to drag Puck with her, even though he's been singing about how he's too cool for a _high school_ dance."

"We're all too cool for that," Rachel quips.

"I've been trying to tell you."

Rachel laughs, and then _does_ hug him this time. She won't fight it anymore, her arms tightening around his thin body. She holds the hug for several long seconds, just enjoying the comfort of her best friend. When she eventually releases him, Kurt smiles in question.

"What was that for?" he asks.

She kisses his cheek. "Nothing," she says. "Everything."

Kurt chuckles softly.

He'll take it.

* * *

Rachel's fathers are, once again, waiting for her when she gets home. She's still replaying the brief conversation she had with Oliver about stars and how so many of them are actually dead, even though you can still see their light. She imagines he was trying to tell her something very specific, but she thinks it was lost on her. She's got too much going on to look into the deeper meaning of his words.

Stars.

Perhaps they live forever in our eyes.

Rachel doesn't wait for her fathers to invite her to sit. She just moves to sit in her seat at the kitchen table and waits for them to fill her in on what _more_ could have happened in the almost twenty-four hours since they've been in this position. She's a little bit exhausted after the long day, and she's oddly keen to show her fathers her dress. She's sure they'll gush and tell her they like it, but there's a guilty part of that _wishes_ she had the kind of relationship with her mother to make this moment that bit _more_.

Shelby is an entire other can of worms, better saved for another day.

Rachel looks at her fathers expectantly, fingers clasped together on the tabletop in front of her.

Hiram starts them off. "How was your day?" he asks.

Rachel doesn't even _try_ to hide the fact that she rolls her eyes at his question. "Dad, seriously," she says. "Just tell me what you need to tell me, and _then_ we can do all the pleasantries over dinner."

Hiram grumbles under his breath, and Rachel catches the words 'my princess' and 'such a hardass.' It makes her smile ever so slightly. "LeRoy," he says with a dramatic wave of his hand. "She's _your_ daughter."

Technically, she's _not_ , but the sentiment still makes them all share a small laugh.

"We met with our lawyers today," LeRoy says, his voice low. It's as if he's telling her a secret, and he doesn't want anyone to overhear them. "The plan is to get the ACLU involved, which is going to create quite the news storm." He sits back in his chair. "I doubt it's going to be pretty, Rachel. If we choose to fight the way we intend to, this thing could drag on for a long time, and we might still not win." He scrubs his face with his hands. "This is _our_ fight, because the hospital isn't going to fight _for me_."

Rachel frowns. "Why not?"

"They're prepared to let me take the fall for what _wasn't_ even malpractice," he practically snarls, and it makes Rachel flinch, which makes him give her a guilty look. "Sorry, Sweetheart."

She tries to smile, but it probably looks more like a grimace.

"It seems that Russell Fabray's reputation precedes him," LeRoy says. "The hospital isn't prepared to use their resources against an 'upstanding man of society,' which really means that they effectively agree that _I'm_ not."

"Fucking bastards," Hiram says, and both LeRoy and Rachel stare at him with wide, surprised eyes. "What?" he asks, all innocence. "I'm angry."

LeRoy pats his hand placatingly. "I can see that, Honey," he says. "Thank you."

Hiram huffs.

Rachel manages a smile.

LeRoy clears his throat. "Are you prepared for something like this?" LeRoy asks his daughter. "Are you prepared for what it would mean if we decide to fight it?"

Rachel presses her lips together, automatically thinking about what this would all mean for Quinn. She barely cares about herself in this situation. Really, she can handle the stress. She's been dealing with it for years, but Quinn is already under so much pressure. Breathing a sigh, Rachel asks, "Is there some other way?"

LeRoy also sighs. "Without giving in, no," he says softly. "The hospital administrators think they can work out a way to get me to stay with the hospital but not see any patients, which is just - " he stops, frowning heavily. "I didn't go through medical school _and_ a gruelling residency just to become a paper pusher. If they want me to go away, then they're going to have to _make_ me."

Rachel nods thoughtfully, deflating slightly.

Well, it seems there's going to be a fight.

"I'm sorry," Rachel says. "I'm sorry I brought this all into your lives. I just - " she falters.

She just did the _thing_ and fell in love with a girl who -

Who what?

Makes her feel more special than she ever has.

Forces her to be present and open.

Encourages her to embrace the happiness on offer.

Allows her to believe that maybe love _can_ conquer everything.

 _Loves_ her so surely.

"Don't you dare apologise," Hiram says, as if he's reading her thoughts. "Don't you apologise for finding your love, Sweetheart." He sighs. "If you start apologising for that, then we are going to have to, and I'm never going to do that again, so you're not going to either, okay?"

She just nods, feeling the weight of _everything_ settle on her shoulders. "When would it start?" she asks.

"Next week."

Rachel traps her bottom lip between her teeth. "Is there any way to wait until after graduation?" she asks. "I mean, _maybe_ Quinn's plan could work, and then none of this will even be necessary."

She says the words, but even she doesn't believe them.

"We'll try," LeRoy says anyway. "We'll try."

Rachel tries to smile, and fails. She sucks in a breath, and then releases it slowly. "You know, she won't kiss me," she suddenly says, and her fathers send her curious looks. Where did that even come from? "Quinn," she says; "she won't kiss me until this entire thing is over. She says she wants to do it _right_ ; that she doesn't want it to be something stolen. She wants us to be together the way we deserve, and I think I love her even more for it." She pauses. "Even though it makes me hate her a little."

Hiram chuckles softly. "She sounds special, Sweetheart."

"She is," Rachel immediately agrees. "I wouldn't be doing any of this if she wasn't."

* * *

Like the previous night, Rachel struggles to get any sleep. Her mind is almost _electric_ , and she just wants to be able to switch it off. Or, at the very least, reduce the voltage or something like that. She just wants a moment of peace, which she knows she'll be able to get _only_ in Quinn's arms.

It's almost one o'clock when she reaches for phone to text Brittany/Quinn.

**Rachel: Quinn. You're not alone in the 'MISSING' department. I think I needed to hear from you today. In fact, I think I always need to hear from you, and I'm counting down the days until that's a reality. We both know I was always going to text you (don't go all shy on me now, baby). I want to tell you so many things, but I don't know how to do that. Can you imagine that? Rachel Berry doesn't have the words. Don't laugh.**

**Rachel: I'll talk to you soon, okay? I suspect we're going to have lots of things to discuss quite soon. Goodnight, my pretty girl :***

**Rachel: I love you. I love you so much.**

* * *

_**Brittany: I'll make sure she sees your messages, Rachel. She won't laugh, I promise. She loves you too much.** _


	16. XXVII, XXVIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the dance scene, I kind of imagined the Ezra Miller and Emma Watson dance from the film The Perks of Being a Wallflower. Which, incidentally is one of my favourite movies.

**XXVII**

As difficult as it is, Rachel is almost able to put her woes at the back of her mind.

Between preparing for Prom, Nationals, her NYADA audition and Finals, she's busy enough _not_ to be constantly stressing over Quinn's actions - or lack thereof - or the impending counter-sue her fathers are putting together. She's unsure if she's feeling a sense of... apathy, but she's willing to take what she can if it means she'll get through the rest of the school year without driving herself crazy.

Or, letting _Quinn_ drive her crazy.

It could happen, Rachel muses. There's just something about the blonde that _could_ probably start a war. She kind of already has, except that the two sides will be fighting using the law and, technically, it isn't even supposed to be about Quinn.

But, it is.

Russell Fabray will be perpetuating hate and prejudice, and Rachel just knows it's going to be ugly. He's starting something that neither side knows how is going to end. If it will, at all. Rachel hopes it does, preferably _without_ Quinn getting dragged into it. She doesn't want that for her girlfriend. She doesn't want that for anyone, and the heaviness of that desire is staggering in all the worst ways.

Rachel briefly entertains the idea to hide away somewhere, but she knows neither her fathers nor Kurt will let her. It makes some sense in her head that she _would_ want to put herself away for a little while, but then she would miss out on catching glimpses of Quinn, and she finds she can't go a full day without at least snatching _one look_ at that perfect blonde hair or those deep, hazel eyes.

She can almost convince herself this desire to _see_ Quinn is normal, but she knows it's not. It's definitely not. She wasn't like this with Jesse, or with Finn. In fact, she would go days without feeling the need even to have a conversation with Finn, which could have been her confusing sexuality coming into play or just the fact that they _aren't_ compatible.

So, it's not exactly... normal.

Which is something Kurt confirms for her when she convinces herself to bring it up the morning of their Prom. He booked appointments for them to get their nails done and, while she's unsure of how the rest of the day is going to play out, she's relieved that it's starting out... all right.

"But, what do I know?" Kurt adds a moment later, studying his nails critically. "I've never been in love the way you clearly are."

Rachel picks up on something wistful in his voice and, as tempted as she is to ask about it, she knows he won't appreciate it. Not today. Not when they're _trying_ to embrace all the good they can from the situation they find themselves in.

At times, she lets the hopelessness creep into her mind, but she's trying _very hard_ to keep it at bay today, because they both deserve it..

She startles when her phone chirps, and she immediately reaches for it. She isn't expecting for it to be Quinn/Brittany, but she's still hoping. Their communication has been stilted and irregular lately. They haven't managed to have a proper conversation in _days_ , and Rachel misses her Pretty Girl. It's just been a lot of _I'm sorry_ and _I miss you_ and _I love you_ and _please understand why I have to do this_.

The thing is that Rachel still doesn't truly understand - she's offering Quinn _solutions_ and _escapes_ \- and she tries not to let resentment settle into her bones. There's a lot the blonde isn't telling her, she knows, so she's trying.

She's _trying_.

And, apparently, so is Quinn.

Rachel's face lights up at the name on the screen, and she isn't even embarrassed by her reaction. Not even when Kurt rolls his eyes and makes a _whipped_ action. She doesn't care. She can't bring herself to care when every interaction with Quinn has a vicious timer.

_**Brittany: Good morning, Little Star :) I hope you're up, bright and early, because today is a big, BIG day! Coach just let us out of practice early, so Hell is definitely going to freeze over. I have a few minutes before I'm expected home, and I was wondering if I could call. Can I? I just want to hear your voice.** _

There isn't even a moment of hesitation before Rachel dials Brittany's number. Seriously? Does Quinn even have to _ask_? It can be the middle of the night and Rachel will _always_ answer the phone.

"Hello?" Quinn's voice is tentative, almost shy, and Rachel feels all the tension in her body fall away as if the specific timbre of Quinn's voice is a soothing balm.

"Hey," she says back, suddenly fighting off tears of relief.

_God_ , she's entirely too pathetic. Quinn is going to end up turning and running if Rachel ends up in tears every time they talk.

Quinn chuckles softly, and then sighs this breathy thing that makes Rachel's heart clench. She doesn't say anything, and Rachel doesn't either. They both have _so much_ they need to say, and yet Rachel is content just to listen to her breathe.

That simple act has never sounded so good.

Eventually, Rachel grows uncomfortable with the silence. "So, how was practice?" she asks, and then cringes at her own question. Seriously?

Quinn hums. "Good," she says, allowing them this moment. "We ran through our routines with no obvious trouble, and I think we're actually, truly _ready_. It's one of the reasons Coach let us out when she did, which gives _me_ time before my parents expect me at the house."

"Is that where you'll be getting ready?"

"It is," she answers. "You know, a long time ago, I had plans to get ready with Santana and Brittany, but that definitely isn't going to be happening now."

Rachel merely nods, even though Quinn can't see her. "I'm sorry," she says and, yes, their conversations are _still_ filled with apologies.

"Please don't be," she replies, and then clears her throat. "What are you up to, anyway?"

"I'm actually with Kurt right now," she answers. "We're having our nails done."

"Ooh, what colour?" she asks.

"He's going with black, like his soul," Rachel says, and receives a glare from her best friend for her troubles; "and I've picked a colour to match my dress."

Quinn huffs out a breath. "You're not going to tell me, are you?"

"And give up the mystery... no ways," Rachel says, forcing herself not to giggle.

"You're probably going to give me a heart attack when I see you."

"Definitely."

"I can't wait."

Rachel sighs dreamily. "Neither can I."

Quinn is silent for a long moment, and Rachel even appreciates the silence _with_ Quinn. Truly and utterly pathetic. "Are you mad at me?" she eventually asks, her voice small and hesitant.

"No," is Rachel's immediate response, but then she sighs. "Maybe. I don't know. I'm still trying to understand, and I'm failing."

"I wish I could explain it better, but I really don't want you to have to worry about any of this, okay? Tonight is just going to be a night, and we're going to try to enjoy ourselves, okay? I know it's not exactly what either of us planned, but I'm still convinced you're going to have a spectacular evening. Kurt is going to be a wonderful date, and you're going to dance and sing and be... happy."

Rachel closes her eyes, audibly swallowing. "I - I don't care about any of that," she says, and she's surprised by how much she actually means it. "I just - I hate this."

Quinn ignores her, because it's obvious she doesn't know what to say to make any of it better for either of them. "And, maybe, at some point in the evening, we can both sneak away for a little while and share a dance? Is that okay? Would you like that?"

"Of course," she automatically says.

"It's almost over," Quinn assures her. "I promise. It's almost over, and then we'll get to be together."

"Out and proud?"

Quinn lets out a breath. "Maybe not yet in Lima," she says, trying to be realistic. "But in New York."

Rachel frowns. "Will your parents let you?"

"That's the part I'm still working on."

"I _hate_ this."

"I love you."

Rachel sighs dreamily. "You know, you can't just say that to me and expect everything to be okay."

"I don't."

"Really?"

Quinn chuckles softly. "I don't _expect_ it," she says; "but a girl can hope, can't she?"

Rachel can't stop her smile. "I love you too, by the way," she says, and then blushes when Kurt makes the action of a whip with his fingers _again_. She isn't even going to attempt to deny it. She is _so whipped_ ; it's not even funny. "And, I can't wait to see you tonight, either. I just know you're going to look amazing."

"I'm going to try."

"You barely have to lift a finger."

Quinn huffs playfully. "Someone's looking for a Prom kiss, aren't they?"

Rachel's mouth snaps shut. "Wait," she forces out; "is that even a possibility, because I will so say whatever you - "

"Rachel," Quinn interrupts with a laugh. "I already told you when we're going to have our first kiss," she says. "You're getting a dance. Isn't that enough?"

"Anything less than _all_ of you will never be enough," Rachel says immediately, surprising them both.

"Wow."

"I know."

Quinn giggles. "We're going to figure it out, okay?"

"Okay."

"I should probably get going," she says, and she sounds sad about it. "I have to head home, and Britt probably wants her phone back." There's a muffled voice in the background, and then Quinn laughs into Rachel's ear. "I stand corrected. Britt is happy to wait here for as long as we need."

"For forever?"

Quinn still sounds amused when she says, "That _might_ be pushing it, Rach."

"A girl can hope, can't she?" she says, echoing Quinn's earlier words.

"And I wouldn't want you any other way."

Rachel sighs into the following silence. "You have to get going."

"I do."

"I'll see you tonight."

"You will."

Rachel presses her lips together. "I hate this."

"I know."

"We could keep going in a circle all night."

"I know that, too."

"I love you."

Quinn's voice comes out small and seriously. "I love you, too."

"Later."

"Later."

Rachel _forces_ herself to hang up and, frankly, she's unsure if she feels better or worse after that call. She _loves_ talking to Quinn, of course, but getting only bits and pieces of her hurts more than she even realised.

She wants _all_ of Quinn, and she hates having to _wait_ for her.

Rachel's phone buzzes in her hand, indicating another message.

And then another, and another.

_Messages_.

From Brittany/Quinn.

**_Brittany: I don't like that you're feeling all this... hate. I just want you to be happy and smiling, and I can make that happen only from afar, which we both know means one thing: TERRIBLE JOKES._ **

**_Brittany: Sit tight, these are some truly awful ones..._ **

**_Brittany:_ _My friend recently got crushed by a pile of books, but she's only got her shelf to blame._ **

**_Brittany:_ _Just went to an emotional wedding. Even the cake was in tiers._ **

**_Brittany:_ ** _**W** **hat's the best part about living in Switzerland? ... Not sure, but the flag is a big plus.** _

**_Brittany:_ _I started a band called 999 Megabytes — we haven't gotten a gig yet._ **

**_Brittany: Ba dum... tss ;)_ **

**_Brittany: I hope you're happy and smiling now. Rachel Berry, I love you, and I literally cannot wait until I get to dance with you tonight! Xx_ **

Laughing to herself, she shows the texts to Kurt, who immediately joins her in the laughter.

"She's something special, isn't she?" he comments, taking in the mixture of light and heavy in Rachel's eyes, and wondering if he's ever seen her shine so brightly.

"Definitely," Rachel echoes easily.

Quinn Fabray is _definitely_ something special, and Rachel has never needed the reaffirmation that everything they're going through is _worth it_ just to be together.

* * *

.

* * *

**XXVIII**

"If I didn't actually have a hand in everything you're currently wearing, I would be surprised by how good you actually look."

Rachel rolls her eyes at Kurt because, honestly, _how_ are they still friends? Sometimes, it seems that everything that leaves his mouth is a disguised insult. "Thank you, Kurt," she mutters sarcastically.

Hiram and LeRoy chuckle to themselves where they're standing behind Rachel, and she turns to shoot glares at them both... which does _nothing_ to curb their amusement. It probably just makes them laugh harder.

"I'm going to remember this," Rachel warns playfully.

"We will too, Sweetheart," Hiram says, taking out his camera and lifting it to his eye. "And, if, in our old age, Dementia sets in, we'll have _these_ to help us remember. Smile for us."

It takes a little while, but Kurt and Rachel _finally_ get into a pose that works for all four of them, because _both_ of their left sides are the 'good side,' which _can_ make for an awkward picture.

Regardless, Hiram snaps away, and he manages to get a few candid shots of the two of them just being _them_.

They're the best pictures of the lot.

* * *

"Tell me the truth," Rachel says, keeping her gaze locked on the wooden floor of the school's gym; "am I going to pass out when I see her?"

Kurt doesn't even miss a beat. "Definitely."

Rachel chuckles breathily. "Kurt."

"I'm serious, Rach," he says, his attention focused on where Quinn and Sam are standing with a few other students across the gym. "Her dress is beautiful, well-cut, possibly even tailored. Her hair is up, perfectly styled, of course. Her make-up is present, understated but just enough." He sighs. "You're _definitely_ going to pass out; probably keel over and die, which may or may not be preferable at this point."

" _Kurt_."

He looks at her, his smile widening. "Rachel, just look at the girl," he says. "It's fine. You're going to have to get it over with, some time, and I would really like to dance with a date who actually looks up from the floor."

"You're on a roll tonight, aren't you?" she mutters as she lifts her head to look at him.

"I am," he agrees with a grin. "Tell me, would you have me _any other way_?"

"Definitely not," she says, and she means it.

Steeling herself, she turns her head a little to the left and her eyes automatically find Quinn, who, yes, looks amazing. Rachel's hand automatically reaches out for Kurt's forearm to steady herself, and a slow smile spreads across her face. The girl truly is beautiful. It's not even fair.

"Can I just say," Kurt starts; "that, because your eyes have been trained on the floor since we arrived, _you_ missed _her_ reaction when she first laid eyes on _you_."

Rachel blinks, but she can't bring herself to look away from Quinn. "What did she do?"

"Well, I'm pretty sure she actually staggered backwards, and she _still_ looks particularly faint."

Rachel hits his arm. "You're insane."

"And your girlfriend can't seem to stop staring at you."

The blush that blooms across her face is unstoppable, and she sneaks another look at Quinn. Who is looking at her, freely and unabashedly. All Rachel wants to do is march up to her and -

And do all the things.

Talk to her.

Hold her.

Dance with her.

Finally _kiss_ her.

Just, be with her.

But... she can't.

Sensing her building melancholy, Kurt slips his hand into hers. "Come on," he says; "let's get some punch before someone spikes it, and then I think you promised me that we're going to dance all night."

"I did no such thing," she protests lightly, letting him lead her away. She casts one last look over her shoulder at Quinn, but she too has forced her attention back to her respective date.

The difference is that the blonde looks far more miserable about it than Rachel does.

* * *

It's maybe an hour - or two, possibly even three - later that sees Rachel seeking out possibly the last person anyone could imagine. Drastic times call for desperate measures, and there's a part of her that _really_ doesn't care what it looks like to their peers. It needs to be done.

"Santana," Rachel says, a twinge of pleading in her voice.

It takes the Latina a moment to drag her eyes away from where Finn and Brittany are dancing - actually rather respectfully, if Rachel has an opinion on it - and look at her fellow brunette. Perhaps the boy is wary of Santana's presence, and he's making sure not to get too handsy or even too close, because Santana _will_ hurt him. It's practically a given.

"What?" Santana asks, clearly distracted.

"Please do something," Rachel whispers. " _Please_."

At the sound of her tone, Santana turns her body to face her, a frown on her face. "What's wrong?" she asks roughly. "Did something happen? Where's Kurt?"

Rachel glances over her shoulder for a moment. "He's attempting to get a particular reservation cancelled," she says.

Santana's eyebrows scrunch up in confusion. "A reservation?" she asks slowly, and then her eyes widen in sudden realisation.

"Kurt overheard Sam bragging about in the restrooms," Rachel explains, her tone switching between indignation and immense sadness. "She's going to say no. Of course she is. I don't think he'll push. I mean, it's _Sam_ , he's not like that. I just - "

"You don't want her to _have_ to?"

"I don't want her to have to do anything," Rachel confesses with a nod. "It's not supposed to be like this, you know?"

"I know."

Rachel sighs, her eyes drifting back to the dance floor, where Quinn is now dancing with Brittany, and both Finn and Sam are nowhere to be seen. Both she and Santana just watch their respective blondes, small smiles on each of their faces as they witness the very thing they're trying so very hard to protect: happiness.

"What do you want me to do?" Santana asks, keeping her eyes on the dance floor.

Rachel presses her lips together, clearly in thought. She's contemplating something she definitely wouldn't have considered before Quinn, and she's unsure how she feels about that. She's told herself over and over that she won't be the type of girl who _changes_ for her significant other - which was a rule that got shot to hell when she dated Jesse, and then Finn.

Things are meant to be different with Quinn and, for the most part, they _are_.

Rachel's just not sure she likes just _how_ different they are.

Still, she ends up asking the question: "Would it be wildly outlandish to get you to, I don't know, somehow, manage to... get Sam kicked out of Prom?"

Santana gives her an impressed, if not incredulous, look. "You want me to get Quinn's date kicked out?"

Rachel hesitates for a moment, reassesses her stance, and then nods her head. "But, can it be entirely his fault? I don't want Quinn to suffer any potential backlash from it? Especially if it ends up getting back to her parents."

It's a bit of a tall order, but Santana thinks she can accomplish it. She just didn't know Rachel Berry could be so... diabolical. Is that the word? She doesn't even care. "Do you have any ideas, because I do think _my_ ideas would probably end up with one or more people getting arrested for something or the other?"

Rachel's eyes widen. "Oh, well, we don't want that," she says, clearly alarmed.

"You don't?"

Rachel actually gives it some thought. "Well, I suppose, _if_ Sam _were_ to suffer some kind of run-in with the law; Quinn's parents wouldn't see him as the be all and end all, and she might be able to spend the last few weeks delightfully single, even though she technically isn't."

Santana grins widely. "You know, Berry, I think I like you more and more with every day that passes."

Rachel's eyes narrow, barely resisting the urge to scowl. "And, with every day that passes, I find that I despise you less and less."

"Touché," Santana says; "touché."

Rachel gives it a bit more thought. "But, if Sam _were_ to suffer those kind of consequences, he might not be able to perform at Nationals, and I'm not willing to risk it."

Santana rolls her eyes at the almost predictable response. "You're asking a lot here, Berry."

Rachel's gaze meets hers. "Am I?" she questions, and there's a certain challenge about her tone that makes Santana shift uncomfortably. "If it's me you have the problem with, fine, whatever, but at least _try_ for Quinn. If it doesn't work out, fine. Just - "

"Try," Santana finishes with a slight nod. "Okay." She squares her shoulders. "Now, get lost; I have plans to make."

Rachel doesn't waste a beat as she hurries away.

* * *

"Reservation cancelled," Kurt murmurs into Rachel's ear, approaching from her left side. "Courtesy of Mr Evans, concerned father of one Samuel Evans."

Rachel lets out a breath she didn't even realise she was holding, her eyes closing for a long moment. "Thank you."

"Just testing out my acting chops," he says, downplaying this moment.

Rachel smiles at him. "Want to dance?"

"Yes!" he exclaims. "I've got _all_ the moves, Rachel Berry. Like, all these amateurs better watch out because we're about to school them with our dancing prowess."

"How are we friends?" she asks, which is a question she finds herself asking far too often.

"There's nobody else for us."

And, Rachel has to concede to that as Kurt pulls her to the edge of the dance floor, just as the song is changing. She wouldn't want anybody else, anyway.

Well, anybody other than Quinn.

"Oh, my God," Kurt suddenly says, his eyes bulging at the sound of the song. "Who knew McKinley would _ever_ play this song? And here I was thinking all they'd play was EDM."

Rachel just chuckles at his enthusiasm, the first bars of _Come On Eileen_ by Dexy's Midnight Runners filling the room. It's good music.

But, one look at Kurt's face makes her smile slip away. "No," she says, vehemently shaking her head. "No, Kurt, no."

"Yes," he counters, nodding his head. "We _have_ to, Rachel. This is our Senior Prom. This is our last chance. We've been perfecting this routine since we were three years old. There's no time like the present."

It takes little more coaxing than that to get Rachel to agree, and the two of them link arms and spin around to create some much-needed space for themselves. Some students look at them as if they're crazy and, okay, they might be in this moment, but Rachel doesn't care as she dances with her best friend in the entire world.

They swing around, hands clasped, and they jump and spin and laugh and _this is the greatest idea Kurt's ever had_. Kurt even lifts her up, swinging her through the air, and she squeals when his arms falter slightly under her weight.

"We've grown since we last did this," he says breathlessly, when her feet are safely back on the ground.

"Are you calling me fat?" she accuses as he twirls her.

"Well, you _have_ grown in one direction since we were twelve, and it's definitely not vertically," he jokes, and gets rewarded with a punch to his arm for his efforts. He just laughs like a bit of a maniac, and she loves him all the more for it.

When the song ends, they're both panting from exertion and Rachel's heart is racing in her chest. The smile on her face only grows when Kurt spins her one more time, so her line of sight is directly facing Quinn, who is staring right back at her with dark, dark, almost predatory, eyes over Sam's shoulder.

"God, the eye-sex is filthy," Kurt comments, and Rachel can't stop her laugh that gets stuck in her throat when she sees Santana wink at her from behind Quinn.

Rachel isn't sure what that's supposed to mean, but she doesn't have to wait all that long for _something_ to happen. She and Kurt are taking a bit of a break, absently discussing people's outfits as they dance past where they're sitting at an unoccupied table when it happens.

"Action, two o'clock," Kurt says, and Rachel's gaze snaps to the right where Coach Sylvester, Mr Schuester and Principal Figgins are moving through the crowd... towards where Quinn and Sam are dancing. "What do you think's happening?"

Rachel can't reply as her eyes watch Principal Figgins start speaking to Sam about something. Coach Sylvester shoves a red cup into his hand and indicates for him to inspect it, which he does by taking a sip. The grimace that follows clearly shows the cup is laced with _something_.

Then.

Then, Mr Schuester reaches into Sam's jacket pocket and removes a very telling looking flask.

"Oh my," Kurt says.

Rachel _should_ feel bad, based on the look of utter shock on Sam's face, but she really doesn't. He was planning on taking Quinn - _her_ Quinn - to a seedy hotel room to do God knows what with her, and that's not okay.

Mr Schuester opens the flask and sniffs it. He offers it to the two other faculty members for confirmation... and then Sam gets escorted out by Coach Bieste. It happens so quickly, apparently, because Quinn still looks bewildered. She stands alone for all of four seconds before Brittany is there, arms securely around Quinn's waist.

Brittany whispers something right into Quinn's ear, which makes her smile.

And then laugh.

It's probably the most amazing thing Rachel has ever seen. Just, the way the laughter seems to bubble right out of her... this lovely, happy sound that seems to draw everyone that bit closer to her like she's a very powerful magnet. Rachel is so, so in love that she can barely see anything beyond the blonde beauty... who is now looking at her.

The look is significant, Rachel thinks, because then Quinn is moving away from her, and everyone. She's walking out of the gym completely, and Rachel just _knows_ she's supposed to follow.

Kurt times it for her - one minute and nineteen seconds - and then sends her on her way. "Be safe," he calls out, and she resists the urge to flip him off.

She's a lady.

* * *

At first, Rachel isn't sure where she's supposed to be going, but Brittany gives her a subtle indication which is the right direction, and Rachel suddenly just knows.

Something about Quinn and bathrooms, Rachel supposes.

She heads down the corridor, her heart rate rising with every step she takes towards her destination.

She's going to see Quinn.

Maybe she'll even get to _hold_ Quinn.

Maybe they'll even share a dance.

Rachel's mind is still conjuring up all the possibilities of this encounter when she enters the bathroom, that she has her arms full of blonde cheerleader before the door has even closed behind her. She's so surprised that she lets out a small squeak, the breath leaving her body as Quinn's arms wrap around her.

When Rachel eventually catches up with what's happening, she returns the hug with as much force as she can safely manage. It feels _so good_ , and she's sure it's going to take a herculean effort to get her to end this embrace. She'll happily die in this position, her eyes tightly shut and Quinn's body pressed so perfectly against hers.

After what feels like a slice of forever, Quinn loosens her grip but doesn't release her. Rachel keeps her eyes closed when Quinn rests her forehead against hers, her breath smelling like liquorice, for some reason.

"Hi," Quinn murmurs, almost like a secret.

Finally, Rachel opens her eyes, and all she sees is hazel green. Quinn is flooding her senses in every way, and she isn't even really _doing_ anything. "Hi," Rachel returns.

"You are so beautiful, Rachel."

Rachel flushes instantly, shifting to hide her face in the crook of Quinn's neck. She can smell the blonde's perfume, and she isn't even ashamed to inhale deeply. It must tickle, because Quinn lets out a small giggle, and tries to get her to meet her gaze.

"I mean it," Quinn says when chestnut lock on hazel. "I've been wanting to tell you that all night." She takes a large step back from Rachel, dropping her hands and smiling a smile Rachel's never seen before. It's so endearing, playful and mischievous all at the same time. "I've also been dying to do _this_ since we... met." She bows slightly and presents her right hand. "Rachel Berry, will you please do me the honour of dancing with me?"

It takes the sheer force of will for Rachel not to cry.

They've shed enough tears.

"I didn't know you were so charming," Rachel says, easily slipping her hand into Quinn's and allowing the girl to draw her closer. They can't hear the music in the gym from this far away, but that's no matter.

They already make their own music.

"Yes, you did," Quinn counters as they start to move. "I've always been charming. It's one of my defining qualities."

"What are the others?"

Quinn tilts her head to the side, and nibbles at her bottom lip in thought.

All Rachel can do is stare, and repeatedly tell herself that _this_ isn't where they have their first kiss.

Not like this.

Never like this.

"I like to think I'm honest," Quinn eventually says. "I've done everything in my power not to lie to you, Little Star."

"What about to Rachel?"

"Aren't you one and the same?"

"Are Quinn and Pretty Girl?"

_That's_ an answer that's far too complicated, so Quinn doesn't even bother to try.

* * *

"I _really_ want to kiss you."

They aren't even dancing anymore. They're just holding each other and swaying slightly, their hearts beating in sync.

"I promise, it's almost time," Quinn says. "I have a plan."

"You keep saying that."

Quinn pulls back slightly. "And, I mean it, Rachel," she says. "I actually have a plan."

Rachel blinks. "Is it a dangerous plan?" she asks. "Are you likely to get hurt in your attempt to execute this plan of yours? Because, if the answer's yes, I would much rather you _not_ do anything, okay? We'll figure something else out. I won't have you - "

"Rachel," Quinn interrupts with an amused smile. "It's going to be okay."

"You don't know that."

"That's true," Quinn concedes. "It might not work, but it's the best I've got, and I have to believe my father is actually as arrogant and focused on appearances as I think he is."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

Quinn just smiles sadly, and then presses soft lips to Rachel's forehead. "We're going to have to head back soon," she says. "Britt said she'd come get us just before they announce Prom King and Queen, which should be in the next few minutes."

"Who do you think is going to win with you?"

Quinn laughs softly. "So much belief."

" _I_ voted for you," Rachel informs her. "I strongly believe I'm not the only one. I predict a landslide."

Quinn kisses her forehead again, and Rachel closes her eyes. "Thank you."

"It's the truth, Quinn," Rachel assures her. "You're the prettiest girl I've ever met."

"Thank you for that, but I meant thank you for... _this_ ," she says, blushing. "For meeting me, for dancing with me." She presses her lips together. "And for Sam."

Rachel tenses for a beat.

"I - I don't know what your role in all of that was, but thank you, regardless," she says. "You're my hero, Little Star."

"I love you," Rachel tells her. "I would do anything for you."

Quinn arches an eyebrow. "Anything?"

"Within reason."

Quinn's answering grin is wolfish. "Oh, I have _so much_ planned for us."

Rachel audibly swallows.

Quinn kisses her left cheek this time, and then her right one. "I love you too, Rachel Berry," she whispers, her liquorice breath warm against soft, tan skin.

And then she's gone.

* * *

**Rachel: Hi Brittany. I don't know if you're with Quinn or not, but I was wondering if you could tell her CONGRATULATIONS on being crowned Prom Queen from both me and Kurt. She makes a beautiful young royal. Feel free to add on an 'I told you so' for good measure. I hope you two are enjoying the rest of your night. Don't do anything I wouldn't do (which, admittedly, is alarmingly limiting.) Kurt and I have decided to skip Noah's after-party and rather watch musicals and pig out, so please stay safe and take care :)**

**Rachel: (Quinn, I love you. Xx)**


	17. XXIX, XXX

**XXIX**

"If you don't stop tapping your foot, I swear I'm going to strangle you."

For the most part, Rachel appreciates Kurt's presence, but she's sure threatening her with violence isn't helping with his own nerves. She knows _he's_ anxious enough for the both of them, given that this moment has the potential to decide if they end up going to New York together (and with Quinn.) It feels as if her entire life has led up to this moment, which is just sad, because it feels so anti-climactic.

As pathetic as it is, the entire thing feels as if it's happening to someone else, and all the pressure she's put on herself is a result of not wanting to mess it up for _that other person_. It's strange, and she doesn't know how to explain that to Kurt, who has his hands clasped so tightly his fingers are turning white as he sits in the seat beside her in the auditorium. She checks the time on her phone, noting that she has exactly eighteen minutes before she's scheduled to take the stage and perform as if her life depends on it.

Which it does, as dramatic as that sounds.

If Quinn is going through all this trouble just to get herself to New York; then she really has to do her part to make sure she gets herself there, as well.

As far as auditioning for a school as prestigious as NYADA goes, the process is quite new to Rachel. Carmen Tibideaux, who will ultimately decide Rachel's fate, travels the country and watches auditions in geographical clusters. As a result, there are about six other students from various other schools within fifty miles here at McKinley to audition with her. She's third in line, and her heart hasn't stopped racing since she woke up.

Actually, she can't recall if she even had any sleep.

"Did Quinn say anything else to you?" Rachel whispers to Kurt as the current auditionee switches from her contemporary monologue to her classic. It's Monday afternoon and, while she wasn't able to inform Quinn about the audition in person; she did text Brittany, and the result was Quinn asking Kurt to pass on a message.

"I told you all she said was to wish you luck, and she was thinking about you," Kurt whispers back, smiling in sympathy, because none of this seems fair to him.

Rachel knows she shouldn't be, but she can't help the disappointment that washes over her. She's not sure what she was expecting when Quinn is doing all she can to be careful not to give away too much, but she can't help wishing there was something more.

She deserves more, doesn't she?

They both do.

"Sorry," Kurt says unnecessarily, and then falls silent.

Rachel stares at her hands. Now isn't the time to be thinking about this, anyway. Her song is... relatively upbeat, but both her monologues do touch on romance and heartbreak. They just seemed to fit where she is at this point in her life, and she's been able to channel a lot of emotion into them.

At least, that's what she's thinking about when it's finally her turn to take the stage. She spends a few moments just standing there, taking it in and gathering herself. She's ready.

Of course, she's ready.

Everything else about her life has been so out of control, but not this.

Not this.

With one last, deep breath, Rachel lifts her gaze and opens her mouth to introduce herself, but her attention is drawn to two people sitting in the top balcony of the auditorium, both with blonde hair and the widest smiles Rachel has ever seen. Her heart skips several beats, and she feels something settle within her when Quinn waves quickly, and then offers her the cutest double thumbs-up before ducking in her seat.

Okay.

Okay.

With _another_ last, deep breath, Rachel finally feels ready to say, "Good afternoon, my name is Rachel Berry, and I'll be singing..."

The rest doesn't even matter, she reasons.

 _New York, here we come_.

* * *

Rachel doesn't get to talk to Quinn until the next day when Mr Pope gives them back their final marks on their projects, and then allows them to spend the rest of the period discussing his comments on their work.

Because of it, Quinn moves from the back of the classroom with her own chair and slots it in the space between Kurt and Rachel's. She's angled towards Kurt, but all three of them get the shock of their lives when Quinn's left hand very carefully rests on Rachel's right thigh, carefully hidden from view.

Rachel almost jumps in her seat, Kurt's eyes widen and Quinn looks perfectly composed.

"Apparently, we didn't delve into the history of how the Suffragettes actually formed enough, before we went into discussing their movement," Quinn says, ever so calm. "I can see why he would say that."

Kurt just stares at her, still a little wide-eyed, and Rachel keeps her focus on her own notes. Her mark is the highest it can possibly be: sixty percent. It's going to dent her overall English mark severely, but she's trying not to dwell too much. Mr Pope is allowing her to boost her final grade in other ways, and she's actually really happy for Kurt and Quinn's amazing ninety-five.

Kurt initially looked flabbergasted and overjoyed with their mark, but Quinn just looked unimpressed, as if she were expecting something higher. It baffles Kurt slightly, but Rachel gets it. Quinn is a perfectionist, and this isn't perfect. She wants to know exactly why.

Still, with her hand resting on Rachel's thigh, Quinn proceeds to discuss their marked rubric as if she's talking about some kind of business transaction. Rachel could almost be amused by it if she wasn't alarmingly aware of the hand currently sliding higher over the denim of her jeans. It was innocent before, but there's a keen sense of danger involved now, and Rachel has the inexplicable urge to tug on Quinn's collar and kiss her senseless.

Right here, right now.

She doesn't, of course, but she does cover Quinn's hand with her own to halt its movement, and she rolls her eyes when Quinn suddenly smirks.

"As far as I'm concerned, this is a great mark, Quinn," Kurt says. "We should celebrate or something. Tonight, at Juniper's. Think you can swing it?" He asks the question hopefully, not expecting much, because it's unlikely she'll say yes.

Quinn lets out an unexpected laugh. "You know what, Hummel, I actually think I can," she says.

Which is how Rachel finds herself standing behind the counter at Juniper's laughing at whatever story Oliver is telling them about one of his friends from the army with Quinn Fabray sitting right in front of her. Her eyes keep drifting to where Quinn is happily paying attention to Oliver, smiling at all the right places and shaking her head at Oliver's absurdity. Kurt is standing beside Rachel, almost leaning against her, and Rachel has never felt this content in her life.

Juniper is also here, and Quinn brought Brittany along just because. Finn stopped by earlier, but had to head home, because Mr Pope called his mother and Burt about the shoddy work he and Noah submitted, and they're going to have a _talk_. Kurt will happily stay here until that's over, because he's quite certain he would just make it worse by showcasing his results.

Quinn doesn't say a lot. Oliver and Kurt do most of the talking, which is mainly because Quinn keeps stealing looks at Rachel, and Rachel meets her gaze every time, unashamedly and unabashedly.

Kurt leans in to whisper into Rachel's ear. "The eye-sex is _indecent_ ," he says; "honestly, I think I need a shower. Talk about sexual tension."

Rachel just laughs softly. "You're an idiot."

"That may be so," he allows, "but so are you. You're totally an idiot in love."

Rachel doesn't even have the sense to contradict him.

* * *

A little while later, Quinn receives a text and lets out a heavy sigh at its content. Well, it was too good to be true, wasn't it? Her gaze automatically searches for Rachel's, unsurprised to find chestnut eyes already on her.

"Do you have to go?" Rachel asks, her voice small.

Quinn nods, suddenly looking profoundly sad. "They think I'm busy finalising the itinerary for Nationals, and I can only get away with it for so long."

Rachel sighs, forcing herself not to pout. "Okay," she finally says, watching as Quinn slips off her stool and begins to bid the few people they've managed to gather farewell. She's oddly timid, and Rachel is suitably charmed when Quinn actually hugs Oliver goodbye.

"Hey," Rachel eventually says. "I - I have a to-go bag for you. Do you want to come into the back and get it?"

Quinn looks particularly amused by this, and Kurt actually snorts. Rachel pinches his arm, earning a yelp from him, and then leads the way into the kitchen, just knowing Quinn is going to follow. Her heart is suddenly beating much too fast, and her breathing grows ragged as she disappears behind the swinging door and moves towards a hidden corner.

She _does_ have a to-go bag for Quinn, but she really just wants a moment alone with her girlfriend. Just a moment, to be able to look at her and touch her and breathe her in and soak up her presence. Is that too much to ask for?

Apparently not, because Quinn immediately draws her into a hug the second they're sufficiently out of sight. It's the kind of embrace that settles every part of Rachel's body. Her mind quiets, her breathing slows and her heartbeat steadies. Hugging Quinn will never grow old, she accepts, and she could probably stay in this position for the rest of her life.

Quinn doesn't release her when she starts speaking, her mouth moving against the skin of Rachel's neck. It reminds her of that night on her front porch, before Quinn ever knew she was Little Star, when she first felt the blonde's lips against her skin. It sends a shiver down her spine, and she can feel the vibration in Quinn's chest as she talks.

"We're almost there," Quinn whispers. "Just a few more days, and I promise I'll be yours exactly the way you want me to be."

"Promise?" Rachel whispers, and she hates how vulnerable her voice sounds.

"I promise," Quinn says, confident. Steady.

Rachel keeps her eyes closed. "What time are you leaving tomorrow?"

"Nine in the morning," Quinn says. "It's just a drive to Detroit, so we don't have this whole, entire, elaborate trip planned like some other people."

Not giving in to the light teasing, Rachel adjusts her grip on Quinn's waist, quietly marvelling over the fact she gets to hold Quinn this way. "How are you feeling about it?"

Quinn sighs, and her breath is hot against Rachel. "It's a lot of pressure," she finally confesses. "We _have_ to win. I have to make sure we win, or..." she trails off. "Well, I don't really want to find out what'll happen if we don't."

Rachel audibly swallows, tightening her hold on Quinn. "With regards to Coach Sylvester, or to your father?"

"Both," Quinn says; "but mostly him."

Rachel has more questions, but they both feel Quinn's phone vibrate again, and the reality of their situation begins to seep into this little moment they've managed to cultivate for themselves.

"I have to go," Quinn murmurs.

"You have to go."

Quinn hugs her tightly for a moment, presses two kisses to her neck, and then reluctantly releases her.

Rachel eyes her. "Are _those_ the types of kisses I'm going to get?"

Quinn manages a smile, and then taps her forefinger against Rachel's lips. "I told you I'm saving our first kiss," she says. "It has to be special, Rach. It's _going_ to be special."

Rachel softly kisses the finger against her lips. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Just, you know, remember that I love you, and I trust you, and I have faith in you and us, and - "

"Rachel," Quinn interrupts.

"Hmm?"

"You're _really_ not helping my resolve to save our first kiss if you keep saying things like that."

Rachel flushes. "Right."

"But, I love you, too," Quinn says, "and good luck for this weekend, okay? I'll try to get in touch once we're in Detroit, but I don't want to make that kind of promise, okay?"

Rachel nods in morbid understanding. "Good luck to you, too," she says, her right hand reaching up to cup Quinn's left cheek. "You know, I really hate this."

"I know."

Rachel sighs, and then reaches up to kiss Quinn's right cheek. "You have to go."

Quinn presses her lips together. "I have to go."

Rachel steps back, and then turns to retrieve the to-go bag she _really_ has for Quinn. It's just a few brownies and fudge squares - Oliver's favourites - but she's trying to be authentic. She can't have people thinking she brought Quinn back here just to manhandle her. "For the trip tomorrow," she says.

"God, Coach would probably castrate me if I were to whip out any of these in her presence," Quinn says with a laugh.

"You're sneaky," Rachel says; "I think you could pull it off."

Quinn rolls her eyes, but takes the bag from Rachel. "Thank you, though," she says, her smile soft, and a little sad. "I - I have something for you, as well."

Rachel perks up. "A present?"

"A letter," Quinn says, blushing.

Rachel's features soften. "So, yes, Quinn, a _present_."

* * *

_Dear Little Star,_

_Not that I think getting your hopes up will do any good, but I think I'm on to something. This plan of mine, I know you've been skeptical and frustrated by it, but it's coming together. I think. Don't you love it when a plan comes together? (I may or may not be a fan of the_ A-Team _. No judging.)_

_If I can help it, for the rest of our lives, these past few weeks are going to be the most difficult we'll ever have to face. I know I keep saying it, but we just need to get over this hurdle and then we can be together. I'm just hoping this forced separation hasn't changed your mind about me or about us. It's a worry I've had: that you would grow tired of waiting for me. But, then I catch you looking at me - you're much less subtle than you think you are, now that I'm looking at you, too, just by the way - and I just know all my worries are unfounded. You're waiting for me, just the way I would for you, and it's not long to go now._

_I like to think, in another life, I might actually be going with you to your show choir Nationals this weekend. I know we joined Glee sophomore year with less than good intentions, but I'll be the first to admit I rather enjoyed the few weeks we were part of the New Directions. But, then, being who I am, I reacted to the situation as it was. The moment I realised and so accepted that Finn really wasn't worth the fight, I knew I had to be as far away from you both as possible, so quitting Glee was just a necessary evil, I suppose. Brittany was sad for a while, but she's always understood more than anybody's ever given her credit for. My better friend is a certified genius, I'm telling you. You heard it here first, people. She's going to be President of the world, one of these days._

_I'm still of the belief that everything happens for a reason, so I don't have too many regrets in that regard. Would it have been nice to go to Chicago with you? Yes. Still, imagine how much of a badass couple we're going to be when you win your Nationals, and I win mine. It's going to be epic._

_Also, notice how I said 'when.' If you didn't, go back and read it. I know you to be wildly sure and confident in your own ability, as Rachel Berry, but Little Star has expressed some reservations in the past. Sometimes, talent is merely half the battle, and I know you already understand the truth of that. There's a lot of practice involved, other people and a little (a lot of) luck needed, and I know you must be worried about how it's all going to work out, so I'll tell you what I keep telling myself: it doesn't even matter._

_I mean, obviously it does, but it also doesn't, which I realise makes zero sense, but I still think you understand me. You always have, haven't you? I just think, at this point in our lives, shouldn't it be less about winning? I find myself just wanting to survive; trying to ENJOY life as much as I possibly can. Well, it's what I'm aiming for, anyway, and I intend to put it into practice as soon as all this drama has faded. Which it will. I promise._

_So, what I'm trying to say is that winning is secondary - at least it is for me - because this is an experience I get once in my life (actually, it's the fourth time, but who's counting, right?), and I want you to savour every second of it, okay? I would hate for anything you and I have been going through to take away from this time in your life. You're going to Chicago to SING. You could win. We're about to graduate. We're starting our official adult lives. So many great things are happening for you, for me, and for us. Now, and in the future. Enjoy every second of it. Live it. Love it._

_And now that my motivational speech has been completed, I should probably get going. I love you. Please remember. Please don't forget. I love you so much. Good luck, and just know that I'll be thinking about you (which I normally do, anyway). Behave yourself out there, and break a leg (as you 'Art' people tend to say)._

_Did I mention that I love you?_

_Yours,_  
_Pretty Girl_

* * *

.

* * *

**XXX**

Trying to take Quinn's advice as much as possible, Rachel throws herself into everything to do with Nationals. Setlists and costumes and choreography and just _drama_ , and she's nearly able to distract herself enough not to think about Quinn constantly. The girl is on her mind, of course, and Kurt keeps teasing her about the dopey look she sometimes gets on her face, but she just accepts it.

If she doesn't get to see or talk to Quinn whenever she wants to; then she's going to get her kicks out of thinking about her - and, possibly, rereading their various threads of communication like the lovesick puppy she's decided she is. It's borderline pathetic, she knows, but she can't help it. She's been starved of communication, and it's definitely starting to take its toll. She was spoiled having Pretty Girl practically living in her pocket, and now she's basically feeding on scraps.

Okay, that sounds even worse.

But, now, she has something else on which to focus, and singing and dancing have always been a loyal comfort to her. Before Quinn, they were all she really needed, and she wonders about all the other ways in which she's going to discover fulfilment beyond her relationship and life's vocation. If she finds it odd to be thinking about these kinds of things at this age and in this situation, she tries not to dwell.

Baking has always been good for her. That's something. Her 'I'm Sorry' cookies are (almost) famous.

What else?

She's momentarily distracted by the sound of a few of the boys loudly cheering about something behind her, but she still drops her eyes to the phone in her hand and sends a text she hopes reaches its recipient. She's sending it to both Brittany and Santana (cringe - it's a risk and she knows it), and she can just hope that one of them will be able to pass it on to Quinn.

**Rachel: Quinn. Hi. I checked the national cheerleading website - that's actually a thing, did you know? - and it says you guys moved onto the second round (which was expected, obviously). Congratulations, anyway, and good luck for the Finals. I'll be thinking of you. (God, I sound so pathetic. I don't like this, Quinn. I hate this. I hate it so much, and I miss you and I want to be able to talk to you, so please can this be over? Please can this part of our love story just be over, so we can get to the rest of it?) Good luck today, okay! Make McKinley proud! I miss you, and I love you. So much. X**

She waits five long minutes, before she sighs and puts away her phone. It's what she expects, sure, but it still stings. Quinn is busy, and so are Brittany and Santana.

Still, she can't help that it hurts a little more when there's still no reply something like five hours later.

* * *

Communication is sporadic at best, but the few texts she receives - and shortest phone call in all of history - manage to tide her over and, before she knows it, they're on stage, singing their hearts out. And then they're on stage again, and again, and someone's saying their name and handing her a trophy, and Rachel knows - _knows_ , without a doubt - that she's done exactly what Quinn's letter asked of her.

What she expected of herself.

It's almost a no-brainer that she texts Quinn (via Brittany, because that connection is more reliable) to tell her the news as soon as she's off the stage. She ignores Kurt's knowing look and subsequent snicker, because she's way beyond caring just how lovesick she is. If Barbra wasn't her middle name, then 'Pathetic' would be.

**Rachel: Quinn. Quinn. Ohmygod, Quinn. We won we won WE WON!**

It's a surprise when her phone buzzes mere seconds later, and she's distracted enough to allow gentle hands to lead her further down the corridor, away from the stage and down towards the green rooms.

_**Brittany: I know.** _

**Rachel: Wait. How do you know? Did they televise it? Oh, my God. Did I look atrocious?**

_**Brittany: No, they didn't televise it, as far as I'm aware.** _

**Rachel: But, then, how do you know we won? Did someone else tell you? Was it Kurt? Finn? God, was it Sam?**

_**Brittany: Rachel. Jeez. Nobody told me. Well, not until you did, just now.** _

**Rachel: Then, how on earth do you know?**

_**Brittany: I just know these things, apparently.** _

**Rachel: You're being purposefully difficult, and I don't know why.**

_**Brittany: Don't you? I'm pretty sure you do.** _

Rachel sucks in a breath, trying to be inconspicuous about glancing around. It's ridiculous, she knows, because there's no way Quinn is here. Absolutely none. The blonde is just messing with her, which is a little cruel, but it's just not -

No.

**Rachel: I'm certain you're not trying to tell me what I think you're trying to tell me. Because, no, that did not just happen. It's impossible. No. I don't believe you. (Also, it hurts a little that you would mess with me like this).**

_**Brittany: Who says I'm messing with you?** _

**Rachel: Quinn.**

_**Brittany: Turn around.** _

Rachel doesn't move. She can't handle it. If she turns around now and Quinn _isn't_ there, she really doesn't know how she's supposed to move on from it. The disappointment would be crushing, and she can't stand the thought of having to look Quinn in the eye if the blonde really is just pulling her leg - that she's just broken putting on the performance of her life.

**Rachel: Quinn. Please don't do this to me. I can't. I can't handle it.**

For the first time, she's grateful she's standing in an abandoned alcove, allowing her the privacy to have this almost-breakdown without anyone seeing her. She can't even remember how she ended up here. One second she was floating on the high of their win, and now she's here, somehow, and she has the lingering feeling of hands guiding her shoulders.

Finn.

No.

Kurt - Kurt led her here.

Wait.

Rachel blinks once, twice, and then spins around so fast, she might actually give herself whiplash.

"Holy shit," are the first words that come out of her mouth, because, God help her, Quinn Fabray is standing right there, smiling sheepishly and holding a single white gardenia in her right hand. "What - you - _Quinn_."

And, really, before Rachel knows it, Quinn is closing the space between them and wrapping warm, tight arms around her body, drawing her into the kind of hug that makes her want to cry and laugh all at the same time.

Rachel has questions - thousands of them - but she can't bring herself to ask them. Her heart is beating too fast and her head is spinning, and this is Quinn and she's -

"Hi," Quinn murmurs, lips pressed to Rachel's hairline.

Rachel pulls back enough to meet her gaze. "Don't you _hi_ me," she says seriously, her voice catching. "What on earth are you doing here? How did you even get here? Did you seriously watch the show? Has anyone seen you? Quinn?"

Quinn just hugs her again, inhaling deeply. "God, I missed you."

"Answer my questions," Rachel mumbles into the crook of her neck.

Quinn chuckles softly. "I had to come see you," she says. "I mean, _of course_ I had to come watch you, and actually _could_ , so of course I _did_."

"But, how?"

Quinn releases her enough to hand her the single flower. "Well, you see, we won our Nationals, and Coach kind of decided to have a heart and allow us to stay and enjoy the weekend in Detroit, which, well, was actually quite nice of her. So, instead of doing Detroit things with the cheerleaders, I hired a car, and now I'm here."

Rachel can't actually believe any of this is happening, and it shows on her face.

"Hey," Quinn says, tucking a lock of hair behind Rachel's ear. "You were amazing. I'm glad I came."

"You _drove_ all the way here just to see me sing," she says, as if she needs to say the words out loud to be able to believe them.

"It's only a four and a half hour drive," Quinn says, smiling softly. "I had to come; I couldn't miss it. And, I'm glad I didn't, because you really were so awesome. I didn't even notice anyone else on that stage. Just you and your... amazingness."

Rachel raises her eyebrows, smirking slightly. "You're a lot more eloquent in writing."

"Shut up."

"Case in point."

Quinn laughs softly, and then settles into just watching her, hazel eyes taking in every feature of her face. "Did I tell you how much I missed you?"

Rachel can't stop staring at her lips. "You're not going to kiss me, are you?" she asks. "Because, during these types of grand romantic gestures, this is usually when the epic kiss happens. You show up to my show, sneak in and watch me perform and win, bring me flowers and your entire human body, and you're not even going to kiss me. How is that even fair?"

Quinn just chuckles softly, and pulls her into another tight hug. "Life isn't fair, Little Star," she murmurs.

Rachel sighs into her. "Don't I know it?"

* * *

"So, how did you convince Brittany to let you cross state lines with her phone?"

Quinn gives her a mild look of disbelief. "It's not like I broke a federal law or anything, Berry," she says. "And, Britt offered, by the way. She loves _love_ , and it was important for me to leave my phone in Detroit, in case my father... well, just in case, I guess."

If Rachel wants to ask about what that really means, she forces herself not to. They are _not_ going to discuss Quinn's father right now. Not when they've been allowed this brief, special moment in time. They're here, just the two of them, at a tiny little restaurant in Chicago, and this is the first time they actually get to _be_.

Well.

"This is the first of our dates I'm actually aware of," Quinn jokes, clearly referring to the day they volunteered at the animal shelter and Rachel sneakily wrangled Quinn into having lunch with her.

Rachel leans forward slightly, ignoring her plate of food. "Did you like me then?" she asks, and she's genuinely curious. "Because, I kind of wanted us to be friends before I..." she trails off. "I just wanted to make sure you could at least see me as a friend before I told you who I was, but everything just went so... wrong."

Quinn abandons her own food. "We've never really talked about this, have we?"

"No, we haven't," Rachel says, and she's so tempted to make them postpone it. All of that seems like a Lima discussion; something to do with their past and future, and she has the niggling feeling they should be existing in this present.

Still, she lets Quinn speak, because maybe they need this, to get to that elusive future they're trying so hard to attain.

"I know I liked talking to you," Quinn says, dropping her gaze. "The Rachel you. At Juniper's especially. Once I got over myself, you were easy to talk to, and that's the part that..." she quiets. "Well, that's the part that became really confusing, because I hadn't been able to _talk_ to anyone like that before Little Star, and then there you were with your kind eyes and gentle ear and just... it was confusing."

Rachel licks her lips. "For me, too," she says, and then giggles at Quinn's incredulous look. "In the beginning, I mean, before I knew you were Pretty Girl. When we first started interacting. When I started to see you for you, and then did the disastrous thing and actually started to like you as Quinn, and then ended up telling Pretty Girl about it."

Quinn's lips press into a thin line. "I really didn't know what to do with that," she admits. "I'm sorry I made it so weird."

"The only thing I'm really choosing to take out of that entire debacle is that I fell for you twice."

Quinn's features soften into an expression Rachel has never seen on her before and, if ever she was in doubt about whether Quinn really means all the words she's been saying, this moment clears it all up. "So did I," Quinn says.

Rachel smiles so widely, her cheeks even start to hurt. "If that isn't the Universe trying to tell us something; I don't know what is."

Quinn lets out a laugh. "Destiny, huh?"

"Fate," Rachel says, a little too loudly. "Inevitability. It was _written_ , Quinn. Your soul, my soul, always meant for each other. We're going to have soulbies."

Quinn raises her eyebrows. "Soulbies?"

"Soul babies, Quinn," Rachel says flatly. "Keep up."

Quinn sighs, and it sounds dreamy and content to both their ears. "I love you," she whispers across the space between them.

Rachel practically beams at her, jumping slightly in her seat. She's on another level of pathetic at this moment, but she doesn't even care. Quinn loves her. Quinn is here in Chicago with her, and it means everything and nothing.

But.

Rachel's smile eventually fades and she asks, "What happens now?"

Quinn blinks. "Well, I should probably head back before Coach Sylvester discovers I've made an escape," she says. "But, in answer to the question you're _really_ asking, I meant it when I said I was close. I _am_ , I mean. Really close." She smiles sadly. "I just have to confirm my suspicions, ask a few more questions, and then all this will be over."

Rachel looks helpless. "I don't understand."

Quinn reaches for her hand across the table. "I know," she concedes, deflating slightly. "But, it's almost over. I gave you a deadline, and I intend to deliver."

"And then what happens?"

Quinn's smile spreads across her face, and Rachel feels her breath hitch. "Then, well, I kiss you," Quinn says. "I kiss you again, and again. And we go on dates, and we dance and visit the puppies, and we make concrete plans for New York, and then, I guess, we live happily ever after."

Rachel audibly swallows, not daring to believe any of it will be that simple.

But, then, Quinn squeezes her fingers, and maybe she's willing to buy into this impossible dream Quinn seems to be selling.


	18. XXXI, XXXII, XXXIII

**XXXI**

Rachel feels it, the moment her fathers file their countersue. It ripples through her in a way that has her constantly on alert, searching the faces of her classmates for anyone who possibly knows there's a war brewing. It's coming, and she doesn't think any of them is truly ready for it or what it could mean for their little town.

As a result, she steers completely clear of Quinn. It's really easy to do, because Quinn seems to be doing the same thing with her. They barely look at each other for one full week, and they don't text at all. If Rachel thought Quinn was paranoid before, this is on an entirely new level. But, if this is the last, final piece of understanding Quinn needs from her; she's going to give it. She's been counting down the days until her graduation, anyway, and Quinn has her believing that's going to be the final play in her illustrious plan.

Now, she's _this_ close to getting everything she wants: out of Lima _and_ Quinn. And Kurt, she supposes, but telling him that would go straight to his head, and he's already insufferable enough without the ego boost. In just a few days, she hopes everything is going to be clearer, because she really doesn't know what she's supposed to do if it doesn't all miraculously work itself out.

Maybe she's putting too much faith into this plan. It seems Quinn is, too, but _she's_ the one who even knows what's really happening, so Rachel is determined to follow her lead. Quinn doesn't seem like the type to make empty promises, but Rachel is trying not to hope too much. She won't survive the disappointment, and there are things she knows to do to keep herself protected.

But, God, she _misses_ Quinn.

When she was younger, she legitimately believed in soulmates; that there was one person out there who was meant for her, and she wouldn't truly be _complete_ until she met them. Sometimes, she still believes in the notion, but it goes beyond _meeting_ them now. She won't be complete unless she's _with_ them, and she feels as if she's being continually confronted with that truth the more time she's forced to be without Quinn.

Well.

* * *

"So."

Rachel looks up from the textbook in her lap. She's hunkered away in the library, avoiding everyone she possibly can, and revising for her last ever Final as a high school student in the afternoon. It's bittersweet and entirely too amazing and, if she passes - _face it, she's going to pass_ \- she's going to be a secondary school graduate by the end of Saturday.

Technically.

She's also hoping she'll have an open relationship - er, the public kind of open, she means, not the other type - as well, but she's too cautious to hope when so many things are still out of her control.

It's been a tiring few days, trying to escape from unwanted conversations about the countersue, so the last thing she's expecting is to have Santana Lopez standing over her, looking slightly uncomfortable.

What comes out of her mouth is less of a surprise, though, and Rachel is almost relieved by the sudden familiarity of it. "You look like shit."

Rachel feels like it, too, but she doesn't say that. She says absolutely nothing, and Santana uses it as invitation to take the seat in the armchair beside her, groaning quietly.

"It's weird," Santana says. "Now that cheerleading is, like, done for the rest of my miserable life; it's as if my muscles are complaining about the _in_ activity. How fucked up is that?"

Rachel just stares at her for a long moment before she finds her voice. "You know, we _really_ don't need to do this."

"Do what?"

"Whatever _this_ is," Rachel says, gesturing between them. "You don't want to be here any more than I want you to, so..." she trails off. "I mean, I suspect you're here for a reason. Correct me if I'm wrong."

Santana's jaw clenches, but she manages to relax a moment later. "You know, the three of us had a plan," she says, clearly referring to herself, Brittany and Quinn. "Ever since we were freshmen, we talked about getting out of this place and heading as far away as possible, which was always going to be to California." She shakes her head. "I guess it was a little naïve to think our plans would never change, right? But I honestly didn't think we would end up here, like this."

Rachel listens, but it's really as if Santana is talking to herself; as if she's working through something.

"Before this year, I never even had to wonder about what it would be like not to have Quinn around," she says. "She's been my best friend for so long, and I always thought we would be together in some capacity. She, Britt and me, just taking on the world; conquering the West Coast the way we always dreamed we would." She sighs, going in a different direction. "Contrary to what you might believe, Berry, I've never actually hated you. I'm just a shit person, in general." She turns her head away. "But, today, I hate you a little bit."

Rachel frowns, because she's pretty sure she's done absolutely nothing to warrant it. Ever.

Like, ever.

Particularly not today.

Not that she can recall, anyway.

"Quinn told me about New York," Santana says, and Rachel suddenly just gets it. Quinn is coming with _her_ to New York, instead of following through on her goodness-knows-how-many-year-old plans she made with her best friends. "I guess I always suspected something like this would happen. She talked about her family's expectations of Harvard, and I couldn't quite stop myself from thinking she deserved Ivy League. She'd fit in so well, stretching that ridiculous brain of hers and schooling all those academic types with her intellect." She hums softly. "And, now, I suppose it's happening in ways none of us ever thought."

"Because of me?"

Santana looks at her again. "I didn't quite get it at first," she says, her voice low. "Or second or third, because, like I said, I'm a shit person, but she loves you, and you manage to bring out this side of her she's never shown anyone else." She frowns. "I didn't even know that side existed, to be honest. It's kind of sobering when you learn you don't actually know your best friend as well as you thought you did."

Rachel swallows, feeling a little sorry for Santana and hating herself for it. "It's not because - " she starts.

"Save it," Santana cuts her off, but not unkindly. "We all know it's because of me." She sighs. "She didn't feel as if she could tell me. About you, or about her plans for her future. She wasn't sure how I would take it, and I - " she stops. "I guess she was right to be wary, because I honestly don't know how I would have handled it before... any of this."

"This?"

Santana waves a hand between them, and then gestures all around them. " _This_."

Rachel shifts slightly. "Is this your apology?" she asks.

Santana's face pinches slightly. "It is," she says, without meeting Rachel's gaze. "Well, it's trying to be. I don't do this often, so I'll probably mess it up somehow." Her fists clench for a moment, and Rachel waits, patient as ever. "I'm sorry," she says. "I _am_ sorry, Rachel." She presses her lips together. "Not that you ever trusted me, but I should never have betrayed it."

"Because of Quinn?"

"Because of _you_ ," she says. "Because of _me_. Because I should know better. Because being a gay girl of a certain colour in this ridiculous town is _hard_ , and I'm sorry." Her breath catches. "I am so sorry."

Rachel moves to rest her fingers on Santana's forearm. "I - "

"Those next words better not be 'I forgive you,' because we both know you don't," she says. "And, I've barely even earned it. I don't deserve it."

Rachel blinks. "All things that are true, yes, but I was actually going to say that I think, as far as apologies go, you did all right."

"Oh."

Rachel smiles softly. "I'm kind of hoping some good can still come out of this entire mess."

"Like what?"

"I mean, I got an apology out of you, so that's something."

"Good?"

"Why not?" Rachel asks, shrugging slightly. "Or, would you rather I refer to it as a miracle?"

Santana scowls at her. "I really have no idea what Quinn sees in you," she says with a roll of her eyes.

Rachel takes it as a joke, and not an insult, because it hits a little too close to her insecurities. "I make her happy," she says, and it's the one truth she's been able to hold onto through all this drama.

Santana glances at her. "Yeah," she says; "you do."

* * *

_**Brittany: Today, we're soldiers. (Well, really, tomorrow we're soldiers, but you get my meaning). Here we are, Rachel Berry. The time has come. I have high hopes for what tomorrow's going to bring. This message, my dear, is to tell you to make sure you locate where my parents are going to be sitting at the ceremony from the very beginning, okay? Trust me, you're going to want a good view. I love you.** _

* * *

 .

* * *

**XXXII**

Rachel, predictably, is riddled with nerves on the day she's supposed to be graduating from high school. It's not really the feeling she was expecting, but she can't help it. Today is going to be a very important day in her life for reasons other than just receiving her academic diploma, and she can't seem to sit still because of it.

Thankfully, her fathers just read it as some kind of mixture of nervousness and excitement. She'll take it.

Owing to her surname, she's sitting in the first of the rows of seniors, and she can see Quinn, who's up on the stage - of course she is - and Kurt is in the row behind her, casually kicking her chair every few minutes. Sometimes, she really thinks he needs a sibling - who isn't Finn and likely to squish him in retaliation - to annoy, because he seems to have latched onto her, for whatever reason. She lets him, of course, because her life would truly suck without him, and it's even worse that he knows it.

As instructed, Rachel spends a few moments first locating her own parents in the crowd and then waving like the awkward little kid she sometimes is, mainly because she really doesn't care about what anyone thinks about her at this point. In a couple of days, she's going to be on her way to New York (hopefully with Quinn in tow), and this town will be some kind of distant memory (that she still doesn't know if she'll ever return to).

But, that's a thought for another day, and a conversation she's not sure she's going to want to have with her parents.

After she locates them, she searches the faces again for the ones she knows belong to Russell and Judy Fabray. It's really unfortunate that she actually knows what they look like, and it still amazes her that those two terrible, awful human beings managed to produce the absolute perfection that is Quinn Fabray.

Rachel zeroes in on them, Judy looking slightly uncomfortable in her sear and Russell sitting up straight, tall and proud, as if there's even a cell in him worthy of it. Her jaw clenches, and she hates them. She absolutely _hates_ them.

Kurt kicks at her chair again, and she manages to refocus.

She's okay.

Everything is going to be okay.

She settles once more, facing forward just in time for the ceremony to start. Principal Figgins speaks for entirely too long about absolutely nothing before he hands over to their keynote speaker, a William McKinley alum from too many years ago, who seems to have found success in real estate. His speech is even worse, and Rachel just keeps her eyes on Quinn, who is doing her level best not to look bored out of her mind. Rachel's also pretty sure she can hear someone snoring somewhere behind her.

By the time it's Quinn's turn to speak, Rachel has to do a physical shake of her body to make sure she pays attention. She's not the only one, apparently, and the auditorium seems to come alive as Quinn steps up to the podium and smiles the kind of disarming smile that has Rachel wanting to reach out and touch her.

"Good morning, everyone," Quinn starts. "Distinguished guests, teachers, parents, and the cClass of 2012." She pauses when the other students greet her right back, which makes her smile widen. "Now, I've given a handful of speeches in my time at William McKinley, but obviously none have been like this," she continues, her voice calm and steady, echoing slightly around the room. "It seems like a lot of responsibility, even if I'm quite certain none of us are even going to remember a word I say ten years from now - particularly me." There's a murmur of amusement, and Quinn seems to feed off it. "I'll admit that, when I finally sat down to put pen to paper - or, in this day and age, fingertips to laptop keys - I was at a loss as to what to say, because, face it, I wasn't ever one of those children who used to stand in front of her mirror and practice this kind of thing."

Rachel flushes despite herself, because she's convinced Quinn dropped that in there just because of Little Star's admittance to rehearsing her acceptance speeches. The little shit.

Quinn smiles knowingly, as if she can hear Rachel's thoughts beaming straight at her. "So, I didn't even know what's supposed to go into Valedictory speeches, which is where I put my millennial status to good use. Honestly, parents, I have absolutely no idea how you survived teenage life without _Google_. It pains me even to think about it." She pauses again for the murmur of laughter to pass. "So, as any good student would, I did my research. I found all these templates for the best way to go about it. I even watched a few YouTube videos and, I admit, I got a bit teary at some of them. This is probably the scariest time of our lives, leaving this place, and you've somehow entrusted me to send you on your way, and I take my job very seriously.

"In my research, I learned that anecdotes and famous quotations are very important. Not only do they show intelligence, but they also eat up time and words without you having to come up with something intelligent to say on your own." There's another ripple of amusement, and Rachel finds herself smiling. "I'm supposed to say something motivational, deeply profound. I'm also supposed to mention a few good memories from the past four years, and not sound remotely bittersweet that high school is _finally_ over."

Quinn's posture relaxes slightly, softens. "I think I can speak for a lot of people here when I say high school probably hasn't been the most enjoyable four years of my life," she says, and she sounds so, so sad. "We've all had our struggles, I know, and it's been more difficult for others than we'll ever know. We've had fights, break-ups and make-ups. We've had wins and losses and breakdowns. We've had countless all-nighters, insane deadlines, unbelievable teachers and way too much homework. We've had it all, and I'm sure there are a lot of people in this place who literally can't wait to get out of here."

She raises a hand, as if she's one of them.

"Still, I feel oddly attached to this place. It has my blood, sweat and tears in its walls, and I didn't think I would be able to leave it without doing _something_ to commemorate my time here in some way. I've read that some graduating classes leave some kind of gift behind to acknowledge they've come and gone. As in, somehow, leaving our mark, as it were. I'm sure Puckerman would recommend vandalising some school property in order to make sure our names forever remained."

Predictably, there's a loud whoop heard from said boy, followed by more laughter.

"Don't worry, Principal Figgins, even I know that won't be a good idea." She grins saucily, and then winks at the crowd. "I considered, maybe, putting up some kind of plaque, or maybe donating a bench or something, but that all felt so... inadequate." She tilts her head slightly, and blows out a breath. "And, plus, that was really all before I realised we had no money, and the school's code of conduct prohibits students from donating any kind of mural without going through several forms and several signatures. By then, it was too late, and I was a little preoccupied with Nationals and Finals, so it made sense to give up on that idea.

"But, then, I started to think about the _idea_ of leaving your mark on your place or on a person even more," she says. "Thinking back on these past four years, there are certain people - teachers and students alike - who stand out for both good and bad reasons. I think I've left my mark on people, and they've done the same for me, and I found myself nostalgic for a way to remember that for forever. So, I thought... if we couldn't leave a mark on this school... then what if we left a mark on ourselves?"

Quinn gets this little mischievous smile that absolutely delights the crowd. "Which really brings us to the only thing I could come up with, which is what I'm going to lead with, because I'm pretty sure I was borderline sleep-deprived when I came up with this idea, and now it's just too late. I know it's probably, definitely, bound to get a _very_ visceral reaction from many, many parents, but here goes nothing: get a tattoo." She pauses, letting it sink in, and there's the sound of expected murmuring. "Now, I know what you're all thinking: First, you're crazy because, come on, Quinn, but we _can't_ , and I say, but we _can_. I did the research for us." She's still smiling so innocently that the entire room has no choice but to follow along on this journey on which she seems to be taking them. "Just, work with me here. I'll make believers out of you, I can assure you. Now, from my research, I learned that three things are very important to consider when getting a tattoo: _where_ is goes, _what_ it is and _who_ does it for you." Here, Quinn waits for the longest time, her eyes sweeping across the room to settle on her father, and Rachel just knows this is the moment.

 _This is the moment_.

She doesn't know how or why, but Rachel turns her head to look at Russell Fabray, and he looks the least composed Rachel's ever seen him.

Quinn continues on, as if nothing is amiss. "I decided to work in reverse order, because finding a skilled tattoo artist seemed to be the easiest thing to consider on the list and, several _Yelp_ reviews later, I was taking a drive to Toledo. I wasn't sure what to expect, honestly, but tattoo parlours have always been these foreign things to me, and it was so difficult to imagine myself, this blonde, cookie-cutter, Christian girl walking into one of those dark stores and actually _getting a tattoo_. But, I walked right in, and I received the surprise of my life. Just as an aside, it's not as dark in there as they like you to think." She's on her own tangent at this point and, even though Rachel realises all this fanfare is really for her father, it doesn't feel particularly out of place in this room.

"There was a young woman behind the counter," Quinn says, her eyes focused on her father. "Probably a couple of years out of graduation herself, and she picked up on the fact I was a newbie with one look, but she waved me in asked the other two important questions. What was I looking for and where would I want to put it? Even during the drive, I didn't manage to figure it out. Would it be the school name, its logo, my best friends' names? What was so important to me about this school and its people that I would be willing to wear it on my body for the rest of my life?" She seems to ponder it, this dramatic flare about her that makes Rachel wonder if writing is really the way to go for her. "Apparently, it's sometimes not okay to ask about other people's tattoos, but I managed to ask about hers and I'm still standing here, so, yay." She shrugs unapologetically, and Rachel is so, so in love.

"There was one particular one that caught my eye. It was a Chinese symbol on her bicep, which looked quite recent, and the translation beneath it, in brackets was Control plus Z, also known as the Undo function on a keyboard for those non-millennials. I found it amusing at first, but, when she spoke of it, it was with tone of deep, deep regret. It was heavy in her eyes, and it suddenly struck me that _that_ is the kind of emotion that deserves a tattoo. Oddly curious, I asked if I could share the story she told me, and she agreed." Quinn seems to steel herself, as if this is going to be the part that either clinches it or she's failed completely, and Rachel unconsciously holds her breath. "She told me she met this man, rich and older, who liked to buy her things. Student loans add up, she said, and the attention was nice. Sometimes, girls, even ones with tattoos, like to be pampered. She said they would always meet in secret, and she naively thought it was because he was ashamed of the age difference." Quinn shakes her head, merely adding to the drama.

"But, then, she learned the truth, and she's carried this deep sense of regret and guilt ever since. I'm sure many of you can guess the man actually turned out to be married, with a family: a wife and two kids," Quinn says. "She said, when she found out, the confrontation was explosive because her conscience wouldn't allow him just to get away with it. She wanted, so badly, to tell his family the truth, but she also couldn't bear to break the hearts. Their father and husband was supposed to be a good, kind, religious man, an apparent pillar of the community, and the truth of his affair would ruin his life and his image in some of the worst ways, and she wondered who she was actually protecting by remaining silent."

Rachel holds her breath, because this is dangerous.

It's so, so dangerous.

The entire thing could be part of an entirely different speech, but Quinn already has them all spellbound. She could be talking about witches and vampires for all the audience would know; they're following along without a second thought.

Rachel chances a look at Russell again, and he's up on his feet, fists clenched. There's a defiant look in his eyes, almost daring Quinn to continue with this bluff.

Quinn just stares back, as unaffected and impassive as ever. "She asked me my thoughts on it," she continues, as if she's not having some kind of standoff with her father. "She wanted to know if I would have come clean with the wife about what kind of man she's married to, and I honestly had no idea. I still don't. And, I suppose that's the thing about regret. It can follow you for lifetimes and, when we step out into the world tomorrow as the adults we've spent our entire lives becoming, we're going to have to remember there's no Undo button in life.

"It's a sobering thought, but one I think we'll all have to learn ourselves. We're all going to make mistakes, whether we know it or not. Did she know what she was getting herself into when she got involved with him? Maybe. Would she have done something different if she'd known? Probably. And, I guess that's where the regret lies. Still, I asked her, knowing what she knows now, would she have made the same choices in the beginning, and she said yes. I misunderstood her, apparently. Her regret is not that she's had this experience and grown as a person from it. Her regret is that she doesn't think she's grown nearly _enough_.

"Which, I really don't want for myself," she says; "Or for any of you. And, that's really my message today. Life is about experiences, and I think we have a lot of them from attending McKinley. We have to grow from them; become _better_ because of them, regrets or not." She stops and takes a deep, fortifying breath. "That really is it," she says. "I went into a tattoo parlour to get a tattoo and I walked out with a life lesson from a girl who's experienced more life than I have. She learned, and I did, and now so have you. Go out there, experience all you can and try to live a life where you can truthfully say you have no regrets.

"I'm not sure if any of you will be relieved to know, but I didn't end up getting a tattoo," she says, and then chuckles when she gets a prolonged 'boo' out of the crowd. "Not this time, but maybe in the future. Who knows what's going to happen? I might even end up with something worth wearing on my body for the rest of my life." Her eyes seem to search for Rachel and linger for a beat too long. "But, until then, I guess you'll all have to imagine where I'll put it." There's another wink, and then Quinn is very carefully bringing the speech to an end. She's done what she set out to do, apparently, and it remains to be seen if it'll actually work. "I wish you all lives without regret," she says. "But, if you do end up with some, I hope it's not enough to leave a mark. Instead, I wish you all those other things: joy and happiness and success and _love_ that you'll want left _all over your body_."

Her grin is naughty now, and, yeah, of course this girl is just some blonde, cookie-cutter, Christian girl.

Rachel almost groans at what any of that could potentially mean for the future her.

"Come to think of it," Quinn says; "I definitely shouldn't even have considered high school for that, huh?" She rolls her eyes, and then lifts her fist. "To the Class of 2012!" she shouts, and gets a loud cheer in response. "Here's to a life with no regrets!"

Rachel can feel Quinn's eyes on her, and it's as if the words are directed straight at her.

Well.

Maybe they are.

* * *

 .

* * *

**XXXIII**

Quinn isn't in school on Monday.

Or Tuesday.

As much as Rachel wants to worry and tear into the Fabray mansion, she trusts Quinn. It's a struggle and her heart aches because of it, but Quinn threw out into the Universe her bargaining chip, and Rachel is waiting to hear if Russell was willing to deal.

On Wednesday, the senior class of William McKinley says goodbye to their classrooms and teachers and classmates for the last time, and Rachel can't help feeling a little nostalgic for the four years that have been both the worst and best of her life.

Quinn shows up on Thursday.

But, first, during Rachel's shift at Juniper's, she receives a call from her father that surprises and worries her simultaneously. It's unlike him to call when he knows she's working a shift, and she immediately knows it has to be bad news.

God.

What if he's calling about Quinn?

Her heart thunders in her chest when she answers. "Hello."

"Sweetheart?"

Rachel glances over her shoulder to make sure the café really is empty, and then sighs, trying to prepare herself. He doesn't sound particularly panicked, so she's at least relieved by that. "What's up, Dad?" she asks, trying and failing to keep the utter despondency out of her voice. She would probably take any news right about now, anyway. "I won't be home for a couple of hours, still."

"I know," he says, seemingly distracted by something. "I just, um, well, I called to find out if you knew why Russell Fabray suddenly just dropped all legal proceedings against your father?"

Rachel's breath catches in her throat. "What?"

Hiram mumbles something to someone else, and then returns to her. "Uh, well, you know, the lawsuit is suddenly just gone, and we're trying to figure out what happened."

Rachel pulls the phone away from her ear to stare at it for a long, long moment. When she returns to the conversation, she says, "Can you please repeat that?"

"The lawsuit is gone, Rachel," Hiram says. "Disappeared. Poof. Right into thin air. It's like it never even existed."

Rachel isn't sure how it happens, but she starts to laugh. Loudly and unabashedly, humourlessly and disbelieving.

"Rachel?" Hiram asks, sounding concerned. "Sweetheart, do you know something?"

It takes another forty seconds to compose herself enough to get words out. "It worked," she says, her tone laced with wonder. "It actually worked."

"What worked?"

Rachel is about to answer him when the door opens, the little bell signifying the arrival of a patron, and Rachel turns around to come face-to-face with none other than Quinn Fabray. Rachel almost can't even believe her eyes. Quinn is standing right there, smiling this cute, little, sheepish smile, and Rachel must be dreaming.

"Rachel?" Hiram questions in her ear. "What are you talking about? What worked? Rachel?"

Another eleven seconds path, the two girls just staring at each other.

"Are you still there? Rachel, Sweetheart, is everything okay?"

"Dad," she suddenly says. "I'm going to have to call you back." She hangs up before he can respond, and her hand drops to her side, suddenly limp.

Quinn head tilts to the side. "Hi," she says.

"Hi."

A slow smile spreads across her face. "So."

"So."

She bites her bottom lip. "It worked."

"It worked."

"Are you just going to repeat everything I say?"

"Probably," she says, finally able to breathe. "What did you do?"

"I made a deal with the devil."

Rachel tries to ignore her flash of fear. "What exactly does that mean?"

Quinn shifts her weight from her one foot to the other, suddenly looking nervous. "Well, it really depends on you."

"What do you mean?"

She clears her throat. "It means that I'm me," she says and then frowns at herself. "Just me, Rachel. He - he's more interested in protecting _his_ image than having a disowned daughter. So, he doesn't want me and, as long as I keep his secrets and protect his affair, he'll never want me for anything ever again. I'm me, and you're you and we're free. This is what it was all about. This freedom. This _me_. It's all I really have." She looks away. "But, it's all yours, if you want it. _I'm_ all yours. If you want me, I mean. Which is why it depends on you. So."

And, wow, okay, is Quinn blushing?

Rachel can't keep her eyes off her. "So," she says.

"There you go repeating everything I say again," Quinn says, nervously smoothing a hand over her hair and resting her palm against the back of her neck.

"You're free?"

Quinn nods. "I - I moved out," she says. "I'm staying with Brittany for the moment, but, I mean, I kind of have all these plans with this amazing girl, and I would _really_ like to put those into effect as soon as possible." She licks her lips. "I think I've kept us both waiting long enough."

For a terrifying second, Rachel wonders if she's actually ready for all of this, but then Quinn looks at her with his anxious, ridiculously hazel eyes, and -

Yes.

Yes, she is.

"You've been waiting a while, huh?" Rachel finds herself asking.

"Feels like my entire life."

Rachel takes a breath. "Think you can manage to wait a little longer?"

Quinn falters slightly, but she remains steadfastly in position. "I'll wait for forever," she says, the quiet declaration sending Rachel's heart into overdrive.

Rachel clears her throat. "And, um, can I maybe get you something while you wait?" she asks, her voice all too innocent.

Quinn's eyes meet hers, hazel _claiming_ brown as realisation of what Rachel is doing finally kicks in. "I don't know," she says, forcing herself not to smile. "What would you recommend?"

With shaking hands, Rachel retrieves a menu from behind the high counter and sets it on the counter in front of Quinn. She opens it to the first page, the words facing Quinn. "It depends," she murmurs. "What do you feel like? Something to drink? Eat? Both?"

Quinn hums in thought, her head tilting slightly to the side. "Probably something to drink," she finally says. "I'm a little parched. Dry mouth and all that."

Audibly swallowing, Rachel turns the pages of the menu until she gets to the list of drinks. "Okay… hot or cold?"

Quinn doesn't even look down at the menu. She just keeps her gaze on Rachel's face, intense and all-knowing. "Hot."

Right.

Okay.

Rachel shifts her attention to a redacted list of drinks. "Is there a particular flavour you're fond of?" she asks. "Chocolate? Fruit? Coffee? Caramel?"

Quinn bites at her bottom lip and, if that isn't blatant flirting, Rachel isn't sure what is. "Probably something with berries," she says, practically purring.

Rachel swallows against the lump suddenly lodged in her throat. "Oh?"

"Surprise me," Quinn says slowly, purposefully.

All Rachel can think is, _finally_.

Holding back the smile that's threatening to claim her face, she walks around the counter and comes to a stop right in front of Quinn. They haven't broken eye contact the entire time and, as soon as Rachel grows still, Quinn slides off her stool and plants her feet firmly on the ground in front of Rachel. They're both suddenly nervous, but it helps that Juniper's is empty of customers.

"Hi," Quinn says, a trembling hand reaching out to tuck a lock of hair behind Rachel's ear.

"Hi," Rachel breathes back, her heart thumping in her chest. Then: "I'm thinking you might like a mulled raspberry tea."

There's a beat of surprise before Quinn smiles in acknowledgement. "It sounds nice," she says conversationally; "but I was kind of leaning towards tasting something else... Do you, perhaps, a different flavour of berry?"

At the sound of that, Rachel abandons all pretence and surges forward to press her lips against Quinn's, both of them taking and accepting the kiss they've promised each other from the very beginning.

Finally.

Just, _finally_.

* * *

_Quinn: Rachel Berry, there's something very important I need to tell you. Are you listening? It's vital you're paying attention._

**Rachel: I'm listening.**

_Quinn: I'm so glad it's you. I wanted it to be you._

**Rachel: I love you, Pretty Girl.**

_Quinn: I love you, too, Little Star._

* * *

_Quinn_ _: Go online._

 **Rachel** **: But it isn't time yet.**

 _Quinn_ _: Rachel, sweetheart, just go online. I want to talk to you._

 **Rachel** **: You're messing with tradition.**

_Quinn: You know, in just no time at all, we won't even have to rely on this 'tradition' anymore._

**Rachel: Because you'll be with me?**

_Quinn_ _: I've always been with you._

**Rachel: You know what I mean.**

_Quinn_ _: Was it worth the wait?_

**Rachel: What?**

_Quinn: Everything._

**Rachel: Ask me again tomorrow, and the next day, and every single day after that.**

_Quinn_ _: Promise you'll tell me._

**Rachel: Of course, Quinn.**

_Quinn_ _: I guess it's my turn to be patient, huh?_

**Rachel: I won't keep you waiting too long. I have a feeling I'm going to end up telling you everything you've always wanted to know.**

_Quinn_ _: Am I allowed to ask when?_

**Rachel: Just know it's definitely going to be one of these days.**

* * *

_Fin_

* * *

**AN** : I'll be the first to admit the writers' block hit me hard with this one. I had the idea, but I wasn't sure I could execute it as well as I wanted to. (I was and am still a little worried it hasn't lived up to expectations, but I'm sure you'll let me know.) Anyway, thanks for reading, favouriting and reviewing. It's the first 'actual' Multi-Chapter to be completed - yay - so this must bode well for the rest (it's going to happen, people). Hope you're all having a good weekend.


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